


Mudita

by squirrellysemantics



Category: Assassin's Creed 2 (Video Game), Uncharted
Genre: Action, M/M, Multi, Slash, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-27
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirrellysemantics/pseuds/squirrellysemantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you find what you never knew you needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains slash content and polyamory between three men. Proceed at your own risk

Uncharted is owned by Naughty Dog, AC is owned by Ubisoft. I own nothing.

Mudita is the buddhist word for joy or more specifically sympathetic joy in another's pleasure.  
\-----------  


Dust rained down as bullets ping-ping-pinged off of the rock face overhead.  Desmond vaulted over a fallen log with a quick check behind him.  They were close.  Too close. A dozen or more ugly dudes with some big fucking guns and they weren’t happy.  He looked to the man running beside him. “You’ve got some questionable taste in friends, Drake!”

Nate’s breathless retort came as he paused to return fire, allowing the third member of their party to catch up. “This is-“ BLAM “Totally-“ BLAM BLAM BLAM.  “Not my fault!”

“Right!” Shaun snarled back, primal instinct forcing him to duck as more shots came in their direction.  “You said those exact words the time _I_ was blamed when _you_ got caught copying off of me during our Latin exams!”

“I wasn’t copying!”  A quick slap to the 9 mm in his hand let Drake reload with practiced ease. “I was double checking my work!”  Once their attackers paused under the barrage, Drake followed the two assassins after emptying another clip. “Anyway, how was I supposed to know these guys would get all shooty?”

“Just a tip, Nathan but the Italian mafia doesn’t particularly like it when you steal one of da Vinci’s lost notebooks from under their noses!”

“O-ho!”  Drake answered with his best rakish smile that only managed to irritate the Englishman all the more. “So we’re back to ‘Nathan’, is it?  That usually means you're pissed at me!

“When am I _not_ pissed at you, you gormless twit!”

“Who asked me to steal the notebook in the first place?  Ooo, I know! It was some ungrateful English jackhole who brought along his friend with the great ass!”

“Let’s hope your talent at avoiding a future as a bullet riddled corpse is better than your translation skills, you thickheaded knob gobbler!”

Desmond gritted his teeth, not wanting to ponder at _all_ thank-you-very-much exactly how much time Drake had spent contemplating his ass, not when he was already annoyed at being annoyed that someone _else_ had wound up the target of Shaun’s ire. “Hate to break up your little reunion but will you two windbags save it for when we get away from the bad guys?”  He quickly surveyed the stark valley surrounding them.  “There!  There’s a rope bridge at the top of that butte. From there, we can double back, get to the car and get the fuck out of here.”

“Not bad, Miles,” Drake said with a begrudging nod.  A slow smirk spread across his face as a hint of the devil glinted out of the corner of his eye. “Try to keep up.”  One nimble leap later and the man was already scaling up the rock eight feet from the ground.

Fuck.  Asshole must have been an assassin in another life.  Desmond hustled through a running jump, arms and legs moving with his own natural quickness to race past a startled Drake.  Looking back, Desmond used a smirk of his own.  “See you at the top, Dra- aww, fuck.”

Dangling halfway up the rock face, Desmond’s heart sank at the sight of Shaun still stuck at the bottom of their climb, struggling to get to the first hold. “Come on!  I know you can do it!”

Jumping again, Shaun tried to quell his panic as the hold remained inches from his reach. “Unlike you two-“ His fingers searched the stone, looking for some sort of purchase, anything at all.  “I wasn’t born with the agility of a lemur!”

“I’ll give you a boost!” Drake managed to get back to Shaun first, offering his clasped hands as a step up while Desmond extended a hand down to the struggling Englishman.

“Trova il!”

“Fuck! Here they come!” Drake freed his gun from its holster.  “You guys better hide.  I’ve got ya covered.”   

Desmond abandoned their climb, giving him a stern glare. “You and what bullets?” 

Fishing through his pockets, Drake came up empty. “Crap, crap, crap!”

“Don’t worry,” said Desmond, eyes flashing to eagle vision.  “There’s another way out.”  / _I hope/_ , he didn’t add as he began his search.  C’mon, c’mon.  They were in the Vajo Stretto.   The whole place was one big fucking canyon.  There’s gotta be a place to hi-

A flash of bluish-white and his heart was racing.  “Here! Follow me!” 

With the two men trailing close behind, Desmond sprinted towards a narrow crack that seemed to split the mountain in two.  

“You sure about this?” Drake asked hesitantly, walking backwards to watch for more furious mafioso.  “We’re never going to fit in a slot like tha-aaah!“  Tumbling out of sight, Drake fell into an open pit that was damn near invisible for anyone who wasn’t directly above it. 

Or completely invisible to those who weren’t watching where they were going.

“Nate!” Shaun called into the darkness with a note of worry that made Desmond scowl. 

“I’m fine!” The response was completely negated by a grunt of pain. “It’ll be tighter than a Tokyo train car on a Monday morning but we’ll all fit down here.”

It was a shock to see Shaun turn pale.  “We… we’re going down there?  It’ll quite literally be like shooting fish in a barrel!”

Nearby shouts of “Il vedi?” and Desmond shoved the reluctant man forward with some urgency. “Not much choice left. Gogogo!”

God damn it, Drake was right.  Three grown men could fit but barely.  Desmond squeezed in beside the others, the press of bodies, the stink of sweat making the space feel even tighter.  Pressed so close, he could feel Shaun moving against him.

At least he hoped it was Shaun.  Kind of pathetic, he thought ruefully.  It had only taken being chased by a pack of murderous Italians to finally get this close to the man.

The snapping of a twig overhead and suddenly Desmond was blinded by the twitch of a head striking him squarely on the nose.  Lights flashing dangerously behind his eyes, there were more than one set of hands steadying him.

A sharp exhalation warmed his cheek. “Shit!” Shaun’s swear came out as a whisper as he hovered with palpable anxiety. “Sorry! I’m sorry!”

“That had to hurt,” was Drake’s rueful assessment.  Desmond tried not to flinch at fingers gently probing his upper lip.  “No blood at least.

Crunch of leaves under a boot and they all froze.  Footstep came closer as a voice from above filtered through the darkness, sweetly crooning and full of malevolence.  “Giocare a nascondino, eh? We find you, little rabbits.  We skin you alive.”

It was then that Desmond noticed the trembling. The short hitch after hitch in Shaun’s breathing. Slowly, Desmond felt for the other man, bringing his lips to what he hoped was the Englishman’s ear for a hushed whisper. “You OK?”

“I shouldn’t have come. You both would have been safely away by now if it wasn’t for me.”  The words slipped from Shaun’s lips in a murmur Desmond had to strain to hear. “Should have left me behind.”

 “Everything’s going to be fine!” he hissed back, hugging the man without thinking.

“Miles is right.”  He could feel Drake wrap his arms around them both to offer what comfort there was and it shocked him that there was no stab of jealousy. “You can’t think about it like that.  We’ll get out of this mess. You’ll see.”

The bravado wasn’t helping; Desmond felt Shaun tense and trembling against him still.

“Hey!”  Drake’s whisper was congenial, almost conversational.  “Remember that time in Paris? That night we got locked into the ancient manuscript room at the BnF?””

“Are you fucking crazy?” Desmond snapped but the words seemed to have their intended effect as the trembling vanished.

Shaun managed a soft growl. “Don’t you _dare_ tell that story.”

“What?” Drake asked in all innocence. “It ended all right, didn’t it? Just like today will, too.  Though this time, I don’t think we’ll have to ditch our clothes on the ro-oof!”

Desmond didn’t need his eyes to know that someone had just gotten a sharp elbow to the gut.  

“Fucking wanker.” 

Arms enveloped them both even tighter, Drake struggling to speak through gasps for air. “That’s the Shaun Hastings we know and love.”

They waited. 

And waited. 

And waited.

Sounds of motion came and went above them.  Each second felt like minutes, minutes like hours, filled with an unrelenting tension that slowly ate away at what courage they could share. Desmond could feel it under his skin, the urge to move, to run, to fight. 

“Can’t take this anymore,” Drake said, managing to echo his thoughts, not giving either man an opportunity to argue before he shimmied his way from their hiding spot. “All clear!  Let’s move!”

With the mafia following a cold trail, the journey back to the car was thankfully uneventful. Three pairs of eyes were constantly on the lookout, expecting a shout, shots fired at any moment before the chase would be on again.   Taking the wheel, Desmond watched Shaun carefully in the rearview mirror, the Englishman remaining uncharacteristically silent.  Even Drake’s affectionate teasing couldn’t break him out of his shell.

They checked into the first dirtbag hotel they could find, Drake bouncing on the balls of his feet as they wove their way through its labyrinthine hallways.  “Hot damn!” he hollered at the top of his lungs, pounding Desmond on the back with forceful enthusiasm.  “We are the luckiest sons of bitches alive! Where’d you learn to climb like that, anyway? That was _amazing_!”

Desmond permitted himself a smile, an open, honest smile, the infectious excitement adding to the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.  “Nate, I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

The man let out a pleased laugh and Desmond couldn’t resist laughing along with him. ““You called me Nate! Ya know, you should totally teach both of us that jump.  It’ll come in handy the next time somebody decides to shoot at us.” Full of energy, he turned to Shaun who trailed along behind them. “Which happens a lot more often than… I’d… like-”   

His voice died in his throat, forcing Desmond to turn to see what was the matter.

Shaun glared at them both, sharing none of their joyful exuberance.  Fists tightly clenched, he looked ready to strike. “You are both imbeciles. Reckless!  Bull headed! Imbeciles!” 

“C’mon, now,” Nate said softly, looking far too much like a kicked puppy. “Don’t be like th-“

“This is not a game!” Shaun roared, crimson flush suffusing every inch of him.  “You could have died today!  Because I _had_ to play the hero and come with you!”

Desmond ached at the misery radiating from the man. “But we didn’t.  You can’t spend your whole life worrying about things that _might_ have happened or what _will_ happen.”   His subconscious acted before he knew it, slowly reaching out to lay a soothing hand on the man’s shoulder. “We’re here now.  That’s all that matters.”

His hand never made it, Shaun shrugging it off to latch on to him instead, fingers digging into either side of his skull.  Never had he seen the Englishman so full of doubt. “I hope so.”

Utter shock as Desmond felt lips on him, warm and pliable, the barest touch against his own.  So careful, so weightless that he wondered if he was hallucinating, until a tongue flicked out, tracing the line of his scar and he couldn’t hold in his helpless moan.  He captured the tongue for a moment, wondering why the hell either of them had waited so long, gently sucking as he got lost in the sensation.  It continued, this soft exploration, until they broke apart to catch their breath.

“Uh, Looks like, uh… you guys need your space so I..” Nate stammered, cheeks blooming a rosy red as he looked almost wistful trying to inch his way past the two men.  “Uh, I will go have a drink. Or ten.  At the bar.  In another city.”

“Wait!” Shaun peeled himself away to block the man’s path, pleading, hopelessly lost as he looked between the two men.  “Don’t go.”

For quite possibly the first and only moment in his life, Nate was speechless, mouth hanging in confusion.

He wasn’t the only one who was confused. “What are you asking?” Desmond managed.

Shaun simply shook his head. “I’m not sure, but please.” He swallowed thickly.  “Don’t disappear on me. I don’t think I could bear it. Not right now at any rate.”

Nate directed a contemplative eye at Desmond.  Desmond stared back without malice and the man seemed to find what he was searching for.  Without another word, they adjourned to their room.

It was cramped, the most they could afford with what euros they could scrounge together.  Two singles and not much else. 

Arms stretching out overhead, Nate yawned, adrenaline fading to leave them with just exaustion triggering the other men to do the same.   He shot them a quizzical look as he waggled a finger at the two beds. “I can take the floor, if you guys want…”

“No, no, you can take it,” protested Desmond.  “I’ve gotten used to sleeping in weird places.”

With little preparation beyond that, they collapsed in their respective spaces, Desmond stretched out on a spare blanket on the floor between them.

He expected to be asleep in minutes but Desmond spent the better part of an hour tossing and turning.  Mind racing with what the future might hold, no matter what he had told Shaun earlier.  The kiss, Jesus, that kiss.  It replayed over and over -the softness, the tenderness- leaving him awake and restless. And what was the deal with Nate?  The two men obviously cared for each other.  How did all the pieces come together? He lost track of how long he’d been going over it in his thoughts when a hand tapped him on the hip. 

“C’mere, you moron.”

Desmond couldn’t help his stupid little smile as he crawled into the tiny bed with Shaun, its expanse nowhere near wide enough for them both.  Still, they made it work, a tangle of limbs that seemed to fit together somehow as they went this way and that, Desmond not even minding his ass sticking out over the edge of the bed.  He was glad to feel himself nodding off, thinking he would finally be at peace, but he found himself drifting in and out of the twilight of sleep to listen to Nate’s faint snoring.  Shaun’s own disquiet suggested he might have been doing the same.

“No.” 

The word shattered the room’s soft silence as Nate kicked out against some invisible foe in his sleep.

It came again –‘No!’- louder this time, the insensible man wrestling with whatever inner demons were torturing him.   

But it was the moan of pain that stirred Desmond to action, rising to his feet and coaxing Shaun to follow him.  Together they shoved the small bed across the floor, bringing them together until the beds were one seamless unit. Still a tight fit but more comfortable for the three of them.   

Nate continued his thrashing, their impromptu redecorating doing nothing to wake him.  The two settled in next to him, Desmond brushing against the still-sleeping man’s shoulder to avoid startling him. 

The contact set Nate in motion, clinging to the warm bodies next to him like a remora; his breathing evening out as he sank into a more restful slumber. 

Desmond let out a puff of amusement. “Why am I not surprised?” he whispered to Shaun, though the man was already conked out, burrowed tightly into Desmond’s side. 

He laughed in earnest this time and Desmond didn’t even notice when sleep finally claimed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback, critique always appreciated!

 

Sleep was warm.Comforting.But waking was inevitable no matter how much Nate fought against its pull.

It felt too good to luxuriate in the first bit of actual rest he’d had in a long time.There was zero memory of the actual act of falling asleep; as soon as his head hit his pillow, he’d fallen straight into dreams.

The bad kind.

Unrelenting replays of brutality in a Panamanian jungle.Drug runners setting up a trap for him that had caught a young boy instead.The feel of the tiny body going limp in Nate’s arms, the kid’s final breath. No hospital, no help for miles.Life spilling onto the grass from a boy who hadn’t been given a chance to live.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, something had triggered his mind into making a pleasant detour. His tranquil days at university followed by rowdy nights out with some scrawny kid named Shaun, causing all kinds of trouble.

The good kind.

There was that disjointed feeling of _then_ and _now_ being one and the same as Nate woke.Where he was or how he’d gotten there didn’t matter because right now he felt _great_. A warm bed that didn’t feel like concrete and nobody using him for target practice? This was a rarity.

Nate stretched a huge stretch to curl up with his smile, only to bump into a warm body lying next to him.

Interesting.

Cracking one eye open, he was greeted by an ass.Well, isn’t this nice? He didn’t have to fight off his torpor to know this beat up pair of jeans hid some goodness underneath.

Odd though.He wasn’t the kind of guy who forgot that sort of thing.Particularly not when it involved an ass like _that_.He liked to think he made sure the owner of said ass wouldn’t forget it either.

Whatever they’d done.

Nate experimentally nuzzled the expanse of skin peeking just above the waistband and the body arched into it.

This was a good sign.

Still in too much of a haze, Nate didn’t realize the shower had been running until it ended suddenly with a loud rattle that shook their whole room.Out came Shaun, all damp and spiky and freshly clean.

Shaun?Nate’s addled mind balked at this sort of math. Then who was…

It took a second for it to dawn that the ass he’d been using as a pillow belonged to Desmond and said pillow was still sound asleep.

There was a slip of smooth sheets as Shaun slid behind him, pulling the blanket over all three.“It’s early still. Go back to sleep, you twat.”

Nate felt an arm wound itself around his waist and the comforting warmth came flooding back, too hard to resist. He drifted back into precious slumber.

\-----------------

Midmorning sun blazing across his face was too strong to ignore.It was an echo of the first time he’d tried it- long, luxuriant stretch- except this time there was a distinct lack of ass.There was a distinct lack of any sort of body parts on either side and this was vaguely disappointing.

Had it been a dream?It wouldn’t have taken much to convince him of that until he felt the seam of two beds hastily shoved together digging into his back.The shower was running again, rush of water flowing through old Italian pipes. There was a careful rustling of paper and Nate finally had to look.

There were notes everywhere; bits of torn paper with one or two words on them, sometimes a whole phrase.Shaun had claimed a large chunk of what little floor space they had, creating a mosaic of paper around the da Vinci notebook. Every now and then Shaun would pause from his furious scribbling to rearrange some of pieces around him as if they were a colossal jig saw puzzle only to go back and scribble some more.

“Doing some light reading?” Nate asked with a hint of amusement.

This was acknowledged with a firm ‘hmph’ and nothing more.

Nate flipped himself around, using his vantage point to look over the other man’s shoulder.“So how did we end up all Three Amigos last night?”

Shaun went very still, refusing to make eye contact.“Are you upset?”

“No.”Far from it if he had to be completely honest.

His scratching of pencil on paper resumed.“Good.”

A loud creak interrupted them as the bathroom door swung open and Desmond emerged, half dressed and soaking wet.

“Do you want to ruin everything?” Shaun was more waspish than usual, shielding the precious notebook like a mother protecting a newborn. “Go drip somewhere else!”

“Yeah, well maybe some selfish asshole shouldn’t have hogged all the towels!” Desmond snapped back, plunking down onto the bed.“So you think it’s the real deal?”

“Yes,” answered Shaun breezily, again engrossed in his work. “I suspect we’ve hit the jackpot, too.There’s work to be done on this and it will take a few days to translate the bulk of it.”

Nate eased closer, liking the word ‘jackpot’ a whole hell of a lot. “My Italian is good enough.Maybe I can help.“ He looked to the small mirror in Shaun’s hand.It reflected a note in da Vinci’s mirror writing scrawled across the margin.

“‘Templars found Masayaf?’” he translated aloud without a thought.Nate grabbed for the mirror just as it was snatched it away.“What kind of Dan Brown bullshit is this?”

Shaun was scandalized. “I’ll thank you to not mention that ludicrous tripe in my presence!”

“Fine, you baby,” Nate said, not caring in the slightest.“Are you sure that thing’s genuine?”

The centuries old notebook snapped shut, Shaun hiding its contents from prying eyes. “Stay out of this!It’s too dangerous!”

“Like that’s ever stopped me?”

This swayed Shaun not at all.

“C’mon!” Nate tried again, turning on the petulance. “I’m gonna get in trouble with or without you so cough it up.”

“Fuck off! I won’t be a party to it!” Shaun clutched the notebook to his chest as Nate lunged, missing to grab onto the other man’s arm instead.Somehow Nate ended up on the ground and it devolved into a wrestling match that would have done a yard of schoolboys proud.

“Let me see it!”Nate let out a grunt at the elbow to his chin but he wasn’t about to let that stop him.He knew things.Certain weaknesses.

A good grope of Shaun’s inner thigh had him spasming as if hit with a live wire.

“S..s…stop it!” and Shaun almost lost his grip, twitching violently from Nate’s hand crawling higher and higher up his leg. “Drake, you utter bastard!”

Strong hands took the two squabblers by the scruff and Desmond forced some distance between them. “Will you knock it off with the crappy foreplay?Let him help, for fuck’s sake.”

After a good glare, Shaun offered up the notebook and Nate was only too happy to take it off his hands. “Sweet!”

“I’m going to grab us some breakfast.”Desmond pulled his t-shirt over his head and made for the door. “You guys play nice.”

It was an hour and a half before they saw Desmond again, juggling a couple of cappuccinos in one hand and a bag of bomboloni in the other.

Shaun turned on him as soon as he walked in the door. “Where the hell have you been? Do I need to give you a sack of breadcrumbs so you can find your way home?”

The bed creaked as Desmond sat down with a heavy sigh.“Somebody was following me when I left the café. Had to make sure I lost them.”

Nate froze, hand stuck halfway into the bag of pastries. “So we should probably get out of here.”

“Yeah, we should.” The younger American looked far too weary for his years. “How’s the translation coming?”

“Slow.” Shaun somehow still looked disgruntled while taking a sip of coffee.“We’ve run into a snag but we’re getting there.”

“What if I help-“

Shaun was on his feet before Desmond could finish his question. “Have you gone suicidal?” he demanded, turning a spectacular shade of red.“Or have you simply lost your tiny little mind?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”Nate wasn’t at all sure what he was jumping into but he jumped into it anyways.Sort of like always. “Take it easy!”

“There is no _fucking_ way I’m letting you look at that codex!”Shaun bellowed, slamming his coffee to the table.Hot liquid sloshing across his forearm only enraged him further. “Don’t!Just… don’t!” he shouted, heading to the washroom.

Nate watched his retreating back. “What crawled up his ass and died?”

“He’s just worried,” Desmond dismissed with a hint of sadness.“What’s the snag?”

Nate tapped a tattoo on the notebook’s worn cover with his pencil. “It’s da Vinci’s pictograms.”

“Pictograms?”

“Yeah.You know, words as pictures. This bad boy is full of them.Between the translation and figuring out what was going on in the head of a five hundred year old genius, it’s a little rough.”Nate flipped open to one page, immediately absorbed by its puzzle. “Like this one.There’s a hill which we’re pretty sure is translated as _colle_ and this frying pan kind of thing which is a _padella_.Then there’s this little dude with a clock for a face and neither of us have any clue what the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

“Fortuna.”

“Fortuna!”There was an odd note to Desmond’s voice but this little new little tidbit was too engrossing. “Colle padela fortuna?”

“Colpa della fortuna,” corrected Desmond,

That voice was even deeper in timbre than before but Nate had his nose buried in the codex. “Colpa della fortuna! ‘Stroke of luck’! That’s it!Shit, that’s brilliant!Don’t know why Shaun won’t let you help-“

A hand pushed the notebook aside and suddenly there was a whole lot of Desmond in Nate’s world view.

“Caro.”The whisper was rich, seductive.All Nate could think about was that odd little scar that moved with the words created by Desmond’s otherwise perfect mouth.“Mi sei mancato molto, Leonardo.”

"Missed you too," Nate answered reflexively, air simply saturated with intimacy that kicked his brain into autopilot.

There was no way to stop the kiss so Nate didn't even try.Not that he wanted to.It was gentle, tender, filled with longing.People dreamt of kisses like this, so there was a pang of sadness at the thought this wasn’t directed at him.

It was nice to pretend, though.In fact, it felt fucking _great_.

Fingers threaded through the back of his scalp, pulling him in to deliver a passion that was both firm and yielding. That hint of roughness, the give and take.Whatever was going on, it was good.

Fuck that.It was _spectacular_.

Hot tendrils of arousal clouded his mind but it was just as it began to burn brighter that Desmond backed off.It took a moment to realize the other man was very pale, faint sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Nate?" Desmond's voice was thin and reedy, full of confusion."What…I...I'm -"

Eyes rolled to the back of his head as Desmond listed to one side.Somehow Nate regained enough of his senses to catch the man before he hit the floor, though this sudden bulk was daunting.

Shaun reappeared, stunned for a moment before he was all over both of them. "What the fuck happened?"

"I don't know! He calls me Leonardo, kisses me, and passes out! I can't tell if I should be insulted or flattered."

The accusation came fast and furious even as Shaun helped him carry Desmond to the bed. “You showed him the notebook!”

“No I didn’t, asshole.Just mentioning the pictograms set him off.” Nate peeled back Desmond’s eyelid to examine the pupil underneath. “Now are you finally going to tell me what the hell is going on here?”

Shaun’s expression cloistered closed.“You’re never going to believe me.”

“Try me. I doubt you’ve got anything worse than some of the freaky shit I’ve seen.”

The sigh that came from Shaun was low and long.“What would you say if I told you a person can revisit the memories of their ancestors?”

Nate broke into a doubtful smile. “I would say that sounds cool as hell.Totally nutso.But still cool.”

The glare returned at him full force.“Desmond can. Not by choice. Not with any control. There was a machine that helped him at first but now it happens with certain triggers.” Any good humor from Nate vanished when Shaun failed to join him in it. “He has an ancestor that knew Leonardo da Vinci.”

 _Caro._

 _I missed you._

Was that all for da Vinci?He had felt it. No way could someone imagine that kiss.“Knew Leonardo or _knew_ Leonardo?” Nate asked, still full of incredulity.The hint of color on Shaun’s cheeks answered the question.

They fussed over Desmond for the better part of an hour with gradual improvement.

“I’m an idiot,” Shaun muttered to himself, body beginning to unwind when he found Desmond’s pulse strong and steady.“Shouldn’t have let him near the bloody thing.”

“Does this happen a lot?” Nate had been pacing in what little space they had.“He’s not going to have a flashback every time he sees the Mona Lisa or something?”

Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway, stopping right outside their door.

A worried glance between the two men and Nate padded over to the peephole in silence.Two burly, black clad figures clad on the other side, their expensive suits hanging off of them in a line that signaling a whole lot of weapons and a whole lot of trouble.

They moved as one, Shaun tucking the notebook under his sweater before helping Nate pry at their room’s big bay window.There was a rusty, wrought iron balcony that looked to be mostly decorative fixed to the brick exterior in less than a secure fashion.The street was far too many meters below.Nate looked up and Shaun followed his line of sight with dismay.

The roof then.

They prepared to flee, easing Desmond from the bed.The limp man’s moan came at the precisely the wrong time.

A solid kick was delivered to the door with stunning force.The dead bolt somehow did its job though the dried up wood around it showed signs of splintering.

It was enough to put a little spring in anyone’s step.

The balcony held as Nate boosted Shaun to the rooftop ledge above though its ancient metal groaned mightily when Nate tried to lift Desmond.Shaun reached for them but the distance was simply too great.

“C’mon, man!” Nate whispered some encouragement into the semi-conscious man’s ear.“I need your help or we’re kinda screwed.”

The sound of another kick and the only barrier between them and a couple of pissed off goons was ready to shatter into an explosion of splinters.

There was a heavy glaze to Desmond’s face but he was coherent enough to raise an arm above his head.Once Shaun caught the offered hand there was some coordinated pushing and pulling to reel Desmond to safety.The Englishman reached again but his advance was rejected.

A third kick and they were no longer alone.

"Just get going!" Nate shouted."I'll catch up!"

There was a flustered, doubtful silence from Shaun for the briefest of moments before he disappeared from view.

Nate turned; ready to greet their new visitors.The two men were big and angry.Couldn’t the bad guys be friendly and kind of scrawny for once?

“Hey guys!” Nate began brightly.“Glad you could make it!Hope you like bomboloni.”Calculations were rattling through his brain.Using the handrail from the balcony was the only way he’d make it to the roof by himself but he suspected this would earn him a brand new hole in the back of the head.The nasty, jagged scar on one man’s cheek hinted that there was at least one person who would have liked to put it there.

“We want the codex,” growled Scarface, his massive hand making the 9mm he leveled look like a child’s toy.

Nate feigned a chuckle, backing out onto the balcony as far as he could.“Well, you’re gonna to have to come get it!”

A curt nod from Scarface and the other monstrously huge man pulled a Dragon-5 of his own before lumbering closer.

Damn, this was one big bastard.The balcony’s handrail felt cold under Nate’s hands when it lurched with the addition of the beast’s brutish weight.

“Codex. Now,” grunted his new friend.

“Oh, that old thing?” Nate asked, full of nonchalance as he waited."We used it for toilet paper. Sorry.Big dinner last night.”

Once the big man had joined him on the balcony, Nate jumped.Not for the roof, that was still too far out of reach with a gun in his face, but-

The entire balcony shifted, the big thug stumbling with it.

It was time for Nate to deliver a punch to the man’s thick jaw. It fucking hurt, radiating up his arm, his own fist aching like a son of a bitch.He followed through with an uppercut and pulled the man closer to prepare for a head butt.

Scarface opened fire. Nate tried not to gag, the man in his grasp becoming a shield that danced under a hail of bullets. The lifeless body next became a weapon, Nate swinging it at the gunman who looked all too ready to create another corpse.

Nate climbed the fragile balcony's handrail but Scarface was quicker than he looked.The entire structure let out an ear piercing shriek under this new weight and Nate's heart was in his throat as he felt the balcony begin to slip from its mounts.

Shots went wild as Scarface tilted along with the balcony, a look of real fear on his face when he tried to grab onto something, anything once the balcony began its fall.

Got one chance at this.Nate lunged for the roof ledge at the balcony fell from under his feet, hoping, praying it was within his reach.He could feel it, the cold stone of the ledge just under his fingertips but it wasn't enough to hold him.

There was that heart stopping moment of weightlessness.

Time stood still but his brain did not.

Maybe, maybe he could grab back onto what was left of the balcony but there wasn't much remaining.No decorative trellis, no edge he could catch between him and the ground far below. Scarface's buddy was a lump that took up half the window’s edge. There wasn't anything to hold on to unless he wanted to use a dead guy as a parachute.

There was nothing.

He was falling.

Oh, crap.

Everything jerked to a halt, Nate’s shoulder screaming bloody murder from this sudden stop.

“Got you!” Shaun was in a world of hurt at catching the weight of a full grown man.He had spread himself flat across the rooftop to reach far enough over the edge, muscles straining in his desperation to hold on to Nate by the wrist.

There was a sickening sound from the pavement below-a heavy hit full of wetness and the crunch of bone.Nate refused to look down.

"Can you climb up me?" Shaun's grimace etched lines across his face. "I can't.... I don't have enough leverage to pull you-"

Nodding, Nate very much did not want to think about gravity and the brains of a mob guy splattered across the pavement.His free hand came up, grabbing onto Shaun’s elbow.

There was a nauseating lurch as this movement dragged Shaun a little farther over the edge.

Nate tried.Free hand searching for a hold but finding no purchase.Sneakers sliding, nothing big enough to stick a foothold.

The Englishman was nearly purple, fighting to hold on to both the man he anchored and the rooftop's edge to keep himself from going over. "Fuck!" he screamed, his body dropping a few more precious inches over the edge.

An odd sense of calm swept over Nate."Shaun."His tongue felt thick and dry, like it was moving through sand. "Stop."

The feral growl from Shaun was nearly incoherent. "Climb, you bastard!"

"And take you with me?Can’t let that happen." Nate tried to breathe but it came out a dry sob. "Please. Let me go."

"No!" Shaun slipped again, stretched out whipcord tight, his fingers on the roof's decorative trim the only thing keeping them both from plummeting to the ground below.

Nate looked the other man in the eye and he gave the tearful glare a sad, sad smile in return. "You’re one stubborn fuck, you know that?”

Out of nowhere there was another hand on him.Desmond, still pale and haggard, stretched out his long limbs, making all the difference. "He gets that a lot."

There was a surge of movement once they connected and together the two men hauled Nate to safety.

They lay together in a great pile, panting out their relief.

Nate was sprawled out atop the two men, unable to move with adrenaline making the blood in his veins sing.He could feel them underneath him; safe, sound.

Alive.

A wellspring of laughter started to bubble up in his chest.Within a few seconds Shaun and Desmond were right there laughing helplessly along with him. 

It was beautiful. _They_ were beautiful.Both of them.Color to their cheeks, drunk with success.

“Nice catch,” Nate whispered.

The trembling started when the adrenaline left him high and dry.

Many arms engulfed him, ready to catch him again.


	3. Chapter 3

The prissy old man at the front desk wasn’t used to three filthy, exhausted men dragging themselves into his very posh lobby so he took very little time to find them a room.Had to get them away from the proper clientele, right?If Shaun wasn’t so tired, he’d have shown the pompous arse how big a bastard he could be but making a scene was the last thing he wanted to do.What he wanted was to be away to shake off a snaking tension that coiled at the base of his skull, putting him on edge.

From the looks of it, he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.Nate couldn’t stop fidgeting as he paid some outrageous sum for their room with the credit card of some unfortunate named Harold Flynn. Desmond had his hood up as he leaned against the wall, scuffing at the floor with his heel like a six foot child impatiently waiting for his mum.

Italian lifts were far too small to fit three grown men even in fancy hotels like this one but they bustled in, eager to finally get a chance to relax.All three of them were taut and tight, restlessness keeping them in motion.

Shaun could feel Nate burning a hole in the back of his head, close enough to smell the sweat and grime on the man.The scent was not… unpleasant but his mouth was moving before he knew what he was doing. “Feeling threatened by my rugged masculinity?” he snapped, cursing this apprehension for shortening an already short fuse.

“What the hell were you thinking back there?” the American asked softly, more in a daze than with any malice.

Feigning ignorance might have worked for anything else but adrenaline flooded through Shaun, memory coming at him hard, all in a rush; his shoulders screaming in agony; clinging to Nate’s life with one hand, desperately holding onto his own with the other. “I couldn’t let you die, you fool.”

“But you were ready to go down with me.” Nate’s whisper was full of disbelief.“For nothing.”

“Not for nothing!” he snapped back, irritated at his inability to contain his ire. Couldn’t this blasted elevator move any faster?

Nate shifted against him and the air grew stifling.It only made it more shocking that Nate directed his next entreaty at Desmond.“Back me up a little here. This sure as hell won't be the last time we're in danger.How would you feel if he sacrificed himself for me?Or for you?”

Desmond said nothing but now wore the same stare that had haunted Nate.

Feeling the weight of too many eyes on him, Shaun shoved past the two men as soon as the elevator pinged that they’d reached their destination.“I’m not sure if you sustained a head injury or if you are just getting senile in your old age but _I’m_ the one that decides what I do and don’t do, thank you very much!”

Stomping down the hallway, Shaun found their room and struggled with the overly complicated keyed lock until.It finally gave a satisfying click and he forced the door open.

The air conditioned coolness was a balm after the oppressive air of the lift.The room was quite the step up from their last set of accommodations; a massive bed even by American standards, more pillows than a sane person knew what to do with.None of this interested him though; Shaun made a beeline for something else entirely.

There was a simple, undisputed fact; mini-bars were the greatest invention in history.In no time at all, Shaun had the small refrigerator open and pulled out the first alcoholic thing he could find.Labels, brands and flavor were of little concern and half of the beer’s contents were leaving a pleasant burn down the back of his throat before he permitted himself to speak again.

Two men hovered just inside the room’s entrance, watching Shaun warily.

“Now you know how it feels!" he shouted at them, pawing away an errant drop hanging at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand."You two prats putting yourselves in danger is not something I enjoy watching!”He downed the remainder of his beer and without hesitation reached for his second, anger still burning bright.“Neither of you get to tell me when my life is worth risking!”

Noticing the shake in his hands, Shaun took a deep breath.“Cheers,” he said, offering a mollified little toast before downing his second beer in one go.

His pulse shot into the stratosphere as Desmond approached. “That’s not what he meant and you know it,” was the reprimand as Desmond moved past him.Two more beers were retrieved from the fridge.“You’re important to me.And important to Nate too.”Desmond handed one of the beers to Nate, who accepted it with no small amount of surprise. “Right?”

Nate studied Desmond with an analytical eye before giving a silent nod of acknowledgement. Together they raised their beers, glass clinking as their drinks touched.

The two men echoed ‘cheers’ back at Shaun and good god, they were beautiful; throats looking long and lean as they both quickly polished off a bottle of their own.

“I always knew you both had terrible judgment,” Shaun mumbled, unable to take his eyes off them.“Now I have proof.”

Again he could feel their eyes on him.

And it was breathtaking.

How alike they were; close in build- Nate just an inch or so taller than Desmond, but Desmond a little broader in the shoulders, both with those prismatic honey-hazel eyes that were an infinite number of colors depending on the day.Even their voices were close- rich and warm and so often laced with humor.Both strong yet flawed; disciplined yet childish. Perfectly imperfect. So alike, yet so different.

No sane person would have been able to give up either of them.

“I think we have pretty decent taste so try to remember that,” Desmond began again, looking decidedly dangerous with those eyes glittering gold in the low light. “Like Nate said, trouble finds us whether we want it to or not…”

“Which means don’t get killed or we’ll find you and kick your ass to hell and back,” Nate finished.

Alcohol-fueled adrenaline had Shaun stepping toe to toe with them, flush suffusing his face.“That goes for both of you as well! I’m not the only one who takes stupid risks like deliberately triggering the bleeding effect!”he yelled, thumping a guilty Desmond in the chest with the jab of a finger before moving on to the other man. “Or using yourself as bait!”

Nate received his poke with a slow smile, voice turning to honey and smoke.“You know, you’re adorable when you’re angry.”

“Fuck off!” Shaun snarled back, nearly apoplectic at the chuckle from Desmond beside him.

Suddenly Shaun couldn’t think anymore with Desmond very up close and personal. “He’s right.You _are_ adorable when you’re angry.”

Good lord, just breathing Desmond in sent a jolt straight through him and that was before there was even a kiss.That shut everything down; just perfect, lips and tongue rough and ready with the right amount of violence.Shaun was slow to come out of his daze when they came up for air, too thickheaded to realize Desmond had put a hand out to bar Nate from passing until he had done so.

“Sorry. I should have known that might scare you off again,” Desmond said softly.

Shooting back a guilty glance, Nate rushed through his words.“What are you talking about?I was just gonna-”

Desmond’s answer was resolute.“You’re not going anywhere.”

“No.”Nate broke past, trying to get away.“I don’t get this.Whatever the hell… _this_ is,” he stated, arms waving uselessly in air between the three of them. “Waking up in a big pile is something I could get used to but I don’t want to get mixed up in this if it makes me the third wheel."

Nose wrinkling in surprise, Desmond asked “Who said anything about being a third wheel?”

It was so honest a question it blasted Shaun out of his unreasoning anger.

There would be no need to choose between them if it was the three of them.

Together.

And there it was.That tension that had been humming at the base of his skull, undefined and keeping him on edge, burst like a soap bubble, disappearing as if it never existed.

Outwardly, Nate looked as stunned as Shaun felt.“You really think-“

“I _think_ that this has the potential to be bigger than any one of us,” Desmond answered in all seriousness. “I _think_ we make one hell of a team.” A quirk of a smile crossed his face.“And to be honest-“

Oxygen up and vanished from the room once Shaun got a front row seat of Desmond dragging Nate in for a kiss.

It was achingly intimate to watch the two men analyze each other for a brief moment before they began.What started tentative quickly devolved into a battle.A shot of heat straight through Shaun as the two tore into each other right in front of him. He would have had to have been dead to not moan with them as they broke apart, both looking thoroughly wanton.

The two rested their foreheads together as they caught their breath, Desmond breaking into a soft smile as he took in their fluster with a stolen glance between the three of them. “From the looks of things,” he murmured. “I don’t think any of us are going to have a problem with it.”

He caught Shaun with a look and stared him dead in the eye, tongue flashing out to catch the scar on his lips.“You okay with this?”

“I suppose-“A crack in Shaun’s voice forced him to clear his throat. “I suppose I could be persuaded to see the merits of your arguments.”

Desmond let out a puff of a laugh.The suggestive eyebrow he raised towards Nate was heart stopping.“You wanna help me persuade him?”

Lips pursed, Nate pretended taking his time to consider this but that deadly twinkle was in his eye. “Fuck yes.”

With that as his only warning, Shaun was under attack on two fronts.

No way to escape it and he’d be a fool to try.Even with eyes closed he could tell the difference between the pair of mouths that were on him: Nate playful and teasing, Desmond firm but sensual.“Oh god.”The moan escaped from him before he could help it and the laughter against his skin went straight to his cock.

"Hmm, not bad," murmured Desmond conversationally, nipping at the expanse of skin under Shaun's ear."Got anything else?

"I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," Nate mentioned before laving a long line up the throat in front of him with his tongue.

Lost in a fog of lust and annoyance, Shaun tried not to be so obvious that he was exposing his neck for more contact. "For Christ’s sake, I'm right here you bastards!"

They eased up and the three of them were inches apart, listening to one another breathe.

For all his confidence, Desmond suddenly looked very uncertain.“One last chance.” Eyes flashed between one man and the other.“No harm, no foul if you back out now.”

“Have you gone certifiably insane?Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“So it’s agreed, then?” Nate asked with a winning smile.He threw an arm around them as two smiles joined his. “Everybody into the pool.”

God, it was like an explosion of hands, all of them reaching every which way in a race, touching, teasing, testing. It was Shaun that had his fingers threaded in the scalps of both men though, pulling them both to him to briefly kiss one, then the other.The aura of it was deliciously heady all too quickly; sucking on Nate’s full bottom lip, there was a scrape of Desmond’s stubble at his jaw.A sudden switch and Desmond was tracing his teeth with his tongue, while Nate tickled at his ear lobe. This interplay continued; bodies pressing together more and more and when Nate caught Desmond’s mouth again, Shaun couldn’t leave them alone, delivering small bites anywhere he could reach.

There was delirium; soft, sinful noises filled the air, making it impossible to tell who gave voice to them.

Someone’s hand was down the back of his pants and Shaun had no idea who was pushing up the edge of his jumper.He returned the favor, lending a hand to help Nate tease open Desmond’s jeans while feeling Nate j-ump under his hand as he caressed inner thigh.

The room’s coolness couldn’t keep up with the heat three grown men could generate. Letting out a broken groan, Desmond tore at his hoody, too frantic to bother unzipping it before trying to pull it over his head.

Nate flashed an impish leer and tackled Desmond in this moment of weakness, momentum carrying them both to the bed. With an evil laugh at Desmond’s muffled ‘fucker!’, Nate was more than happy to finish removing the tangled hoody from his perch atop the man’s hips.The laugh melted into a low moan as Shaun joined them, pressing them both to the bed.

“You’re trapped, Drake,” Shaun growled into his ear.“This time you’ve got no way out.”

“Why the hell would I want out of _this_?” and Nate writhed in between them, earning him more than one tortured sigh.

They stayed like this for a while, simply moving against each other, each one getting used to the feel of the other through and underneath their clothes.The sounds.Good god, the sounds they made and Shaun was right there with them, matching them moan for filthy, little moan.

He knew he must have looked a right mess; lips swollen, heat creeping up his face. Unsure of when exactly his belt had been unbuckled and his trousers undone but absolutely confident that it hadn’t been him that did it.A thrill of satisfaction went through him to see the other two men so similarly disheveled.

Desmond began tossing and turning underneath them.“I gotta… please.. let me-“What he lacked in coherence, he made up for in strength to arch up into them, spine bowing to lift two grown men by digging his heels into the bed.He flipped them and it was a scramble of desperation all over again.

A tug brought Shaun’s trousers past his hips and he flopped to one side at the shock of a hand freeing him from his boxers.“Christ!” was all he could manage as a hot mouth engulfed him.Desmond was on him, licking, teasing, mouthing the shaft of him while Nate watched enrapt, encouragingly kneading any exposed skin he could find.Shaun was ready to ask what the hell Nate was waiting for but the pleasant shock of cool air hitting where Desmond had left saliva-slicked skin made him lose what little mind he had left.

“Making other plans, Drake?”Desmond asked simply.

Nate stared down at him, arousal thinning his irises into thin hazel bands.“Not by a long shot.”The man pounced, Desmond opening up to him as Nate lapped at his mouth and Shaun nearly came right there and then at the two men openly sharing what there was of his own flavor on Desmond’s tongue.

Never one to stand idle, Shaun reached for Nate. Parting the man’s trousers earned him a loud ‘sh-sh- _shit_!’ once he took the head of Nate into his mouth.He sucked gently on the smooth surface, tongue curling against the underside; just a touch more adept at this since their youthful fumblings at university.At least, Nate seemed to concur, head tossed back in abandon.

So intent on what he was doing, Shaun nearly leaped out of his skin at warm breath at his belly button that marked Desmond’s return.Being engulfed in one go had Shaun humming around the cock he held in his mouth.Nate twitched and bucked so hard at the sensation that it looked it ended in collapse.In truth, he had descended on Desmond instead, the other man parting his long legs to allow Nate free rein to do as he wished.

They arranged themselves into a chain, each body twisting up, using mouths and hands to worship at the other’s cock; a Möbius strip of flesh. No beginning, no end. Even the clothing they wore was of little barrier, each man gaining access as they saw fit. If one paid careful attention, you could note the differences between them; Desmond’s throaty moan that had Shaun at a whimper that in turn set off tiny, little grunts from Nate before the cycle began again.

Things turned rougher the closer to the edge they pushed each other; no more teasing, just suction and movement and tactile energy making them all erratic as they gave and received.Close himself, it was Shaun who succeeded first, using his familiarity with Nate to push the man over his noisy edge. Even fully vocal he never stopped lavishing attention, mouth still working Desmond as he came.This was more than enough for Desmond who was impressively indecent in his own right. That deep rumble of a groan completely wrapped around his cock had Shaun cresting right along with them.

Afterwards, they lay sprawled out alongside each other, completely uncaring at their obvious disarray.

“Everybody good?” asked Desmond.Unable to open his eyes, his hands still managed to settle on both of the men around him.

“Good,” Shaun babbled, body still shaking from aftershocks. “Good, good, more than good.Bloody fantastic.”

“You know,” Nate panted at the ceiling. “I think I like this teamwork business.”

They all murmured in agreement as they let themselves float down into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Desmond didn’t want to hover but there was no way to avoid it. ‘Spacious’ was not a truthful description of this hotel room. “Find anything?”

The clatter of eyeglasses tossed to a desk was more than enough answer.

“I can teach you the anatomy of a rabbit's foot and how to build a periscope for the world's first submarine,” Shaun began, massaging the bridge of his nose as if this might physically extract the information he needed from his skull. “But as far as we can tell there’s fuck all in this notebook that will help us.”

Nate shuffled through page after page of his own clean handwriting. “Y’know, things might be a little more productive if you guys told me what exactly you were looking for.”

Fatigue forced Shaun to miss more than once while replacing the glasses on his face. “We'd be happy to oblige if we actually knew what that was.” He slumped in his chair, a picture of exhaustion. “We haven’t the slightest clue though you’ll probably know it when you see it.”

“Well, that cleared things right up.” Nate shoved his notes aside and executed a luxuriant stretch. “We've been at this for a while. Maybe we should take a break.” Rising from his seat on the bed, he raked his fingers through his scalp to leave his hair more unruly than it normally was.

“Hey, uh Desmond,” he began, eyes big and hopeful. “I can't find my gun. You think you could, well... you know, do that thing-“”

They'd had this conversation before. Cocking his head, Desmond tried to shield his amusement. “You lost your gun.”

“Yeah.”

“And you want me to find it?”

“Uh huh.”

Desmond pursed his lips, barely avoiding a laugh. “Using eagle vision, I take it?”

“Yup.”

Impossible to hide the smile this time. “Again?”

Nathan Drake had charm. And not just a little. The man could charm the rosary off of a nun and probably had done exactly that at some point in his life. Now he used this unlimited resource to the best of his ability, infectious affability radiating from every pore. “That's not a problem, is it?”

Though there were those who were slightly more immune than others.

“For Christ's sake, what is this, the twelfth time this week?” snapped Shaun, stacks of his own translations quivering under the brunt of his annoyance. “What are you playing at? Even you couldn't be that dim!”

Ducking his head only made the color on Nate’s cheeks more obvious. “C'mon! What Desmond can do with his vision is unbelievable! It’s a breakthrough in human evolution and you two are acting like it’s no big deal!”

"No, you’re right,” Desmond sighed, humor draining from him. "It is a big deal- bigger than you could possibly imagine."

An explosive breath pierced the silence. “You know what?" Nate demanded with heated bite. "I’ve had enough of this cagey bullshit!”

He began pacing, pacing, pacing- well, as much as he could in what little space they had and this only added to his frustration.

“Let’s take this from the top, shall we? Best friend from uni turns up with some guy who’s got honest-to-god superpowers. Help them steal a lost notebook belonging to history’s greatest genius and now there's a whole lot of pissed off mobsters on our tail. After nearly getting killed more times than I care to think about, the three of us end up screwing like weasels. And you’d think maybe-"

Nate went very still, the small muscle in his jaw quivering as he fought to not simply shout his next words at the top of his lungs.”Just maybe - after all that I deserve to know a little bit about what the fuck this is all for?”

The look that Shaun and Desmond shared was properly mollified.

“Where to begin?” Shaun conceded wearily. “With every question we answer, a hundred more will spring up.”

Desmond offered a smile that was all apology. “And you’ll think we’re completely crazy.”

“Crazier than a guy who gets regular visits from his ancestors?” Nate laughed, frustration goading him onwards. “How bad can it be? We're hip deep in shit already. A little more isn't going to make a difference.”

“The end of the world is coming,” Shaun began bluntly. “Warnings of a catastrophe are writ large across history, left by an ancient race that predates mankind. The warnings weren't the only mark these people made. They tinkered with us; kept humanity as slaves.”

“Some of that tinkering created abilities like mine,” Desmond continued. “But something happened. We survived. They didn’t. What we do know is that it will happen again.”

“When?” Nate asked with a chill of horror creeping up his spine.

“Not long. A few months we think.” Shaun hung his head, looking much older than he truly was. “And we’re the only ones who can stop it.”

Desmond rubbed at the back of his neck as if the weight of the world had just settled across his shoulders. “We know my ancestors worked to figure out the answers. Picking through their memories gives us clues to stopping it but for every piece we find, the puzzle becomes more and more complicated.”

Nate gaped at them, air vanishing from the room.

Incredible words from a man who'd never led him astray before. Otherworldly sight in a man he’d just met. Whispers in Italian and a kiss meant for someone long dead.

How was- was any of this even remotely possible? He’d played witness to weirdest of the weird but this kind of blew his weirdness out of the water.

The gun. His gun. He’d thought it a scam of Desmond’s at first so he’d tested the man again and again but god damn if the son of a bitch didn’t find it in seconds no matter where Nate had hidden it.

End of the world, huh? There was a lump in his throat and Nate swallowed it down. "What do we do now if the notebook is a dead end?"

A shrug from Desmond though his head remained high. "We keep looking." There was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "For right now, we find your gun."

The big man padded closer, eyes the color of warmed honey brightening with an ethereal glow that made them even more spectacular.

This is stalking, Nate thought. This is me getting stalked.

I have no problem with this.

"What do you see?" he asked in awe, curiosity eating him alive.

"It's sort of an aura," Desmond murmured, fingers trailing along Nate's side. "People and places shine in different colors. Shows me if they’ll help.” His touch was a tickle; feather-light and just on the right side of torture. “Or if they’ll hurt.”

"Hmm.” Nate managed to sound studious as he bit at the firm line of jaw. "That’s a pretty bold claim. What’s it tell you about me?"

He could feel Desmond laugh against him. "You're trouble."

"Ain’t that the truth.” Nate attacked Desmond's mouth, tasting, sucking him in.

They opened up to each other, sharing each others' breath as they battled in playful exploration. When air was no longer optional, they came up from it together, panting as if from a long race.

Desmond was the first to speak, all rumble and roughness. "Ooh, wait. I think I found your gun," he murmured, reaching around to take generous portions of buttock in each hand.

"My ass is considered a concealed weapon in thirteen states,” Nate sighed appreciatively as their hips came together. “But nope, that’s not it."

The fit, the feel of it as they moved together even in this simple grind; it was so, so good. But it was missing a little something.

He tossed his head back as Desmond went after the hollow of his throat. That’s when he spotted it; Shaun- flushed and wanting, watching them with raw hunger and oh, oh god-

The three of them. Together. Really together. He would have never thought it possible but here it was, so impossibly perfect that it was just his usual shit luck to have Armageddon right around the corner.

The bite at his collar bone triggered a gasp and it was even better when Nate realized Shaun was gasping right along with him.

Beautiful.

There was a tug from nimble fingers undoing his jeans.

Desmond tried to look wholly innocent but the light burning from his eyes made him look deliciously demonic instead. “Wait,” he asked, stroking the other man to hardness with careful deliberation. “This isn’t your gun is it?”

How the fuck was Desmond still talking?

“Th..that’s sh… shit!” Nate managed before his hips automatically bucked into the capable hand, his body fully aware of where it wanted to be. “More of a bat than a gun but you -ah, fuck!" and whatever clever quip he’d thought up was swept away as they fell into a rhythm.

"You're determined that none of us get any work done today, are you?" Shaun demanded, hands clenched around the arms of his chair in a death grip.

Desmond turned his luminescent gaze on the flustered Englishman. "Shut your yap and enjoy the show or get your ass over h- what the hell is that?"

Knees buckled as Nate was left bereft. He caught himself against the bed, blinking through his haze at Desmond's sudden absence. “What the hell is what?”

Faster than should have been possible, Desmond was at the desk, attacking the notebook that displayed the innocuous anatomical structures of a dog's hind leg. “I'm an idiot!” he hissed, rifling through page after page with his eyes lit up hotter than the sun.

“Of course,” Shaun murmured, watching enrapt. “If there was information hidden in Altair's codex, why not Da Vinci's notebooks?”

“I need a pen or something! Anything!” Desmond begged with no small amount of urgency and Shaun rushed to help him, offering up whatever he had at hand.

Silence reigned as images appeared under Desmond's frantic hand. Letters. Numbers. The outline of buildings. The paths of roads and rivers. Not every page hid something but the ones that did were copied out as quickly as could be managed. It was a jumble of information and it seemed like forever before he was finished.

Shaun poured over this new information, hands flying over the pages as he managed to piece them together at lightning speed. “Looks like a map of some kind. There's symbols and text as well but parts are missing."

"More sstuff in other notebookss," Desmond said with a drunken slur, a fine sheen forming across his forehead.

"Probably." Nate said vaguely, noticing the sweat breaking out on the other man with growing alarm. “But Da Vinci wrote like thirteen thousand pages and the five thousand still known to exist are scattered all over the globe. We'll never get through it all before the world goes bye-bye."

Shaun laid a gentle hand on Desmond's shoulder. "Why don't you take a break? Nate and I can try to make sense of this."

Shaking his head, Desmond managed a weak "no" and took up pen and paper once more. Eyes alight but with none of the brightness of before, he went through the notebook again, jotting down sloppy numbers beside each message he'd transcribed.

"From what you see, only the pages with anatomy notes on them have anything hidden," Shaun noted with amazement. "Is that right?"

Desmond met his gaze blearily. “Si.”

Strange how the world could melt into chaos from a single syllable.

Shaun had one more syllable and that syllable was “fuck!” as he scrambled to tear the notebook from trembling hands.

Nate was across the room in an instant. “Hey!” he shouted, taking Desmond's clammy face in his hands. Shit, the man was putting out heat like a furnace. “Don't go all Italiano on me, buddy! Desmond! Desmond!"

A few painful seconds and the barely conscious man seemed to find his focus, eyes fluttering open. "Thanks," Desmond whispered and sagged against the men that flanked him.

With infinite care, the two men carried Desmond to bed. They stationed themselves besides him, watching over him as he fell into simple sleep.  
___________

The world came back slowly for Desmond.

Much darker outside than he remembered. Night must have fallen, though he was sweltering hot. Memory came back just as slowly. How had he made it to the bed? He tried to move and found himself pinned in place by bodies to either side of him. Wriggling as gently as he could, Desmond managed to sit up without upsetting anything.

What he found shouldn’t have been that surprising.

Computer on his lap still blazing, Shaun was fast asleep, precariously propped up against the headboard in a distinctly uncomfortable fashion. Eyeglasses had a tenuous hold on their proper place at best, knocked askew once Shaun had fallen deeper into sleep. Kind of adorable really. So tranquil. It wasn’t often he got to watch Shaun sleep and that was a damn shame.

Reaching for the laptop, Desmond couldn’t help but take a peek. Railway schedules? Guess a plan had been worked out in his absence.

Using his long reach, he cleared both computer and eyeglasses to safety and there was a wordless sound of disapproval from Shaun at the loss. Desmond kept his laugh to himself. He should have known to be more careful when taking baby’s pacifier away. He nudged Shaun along and after some mindless grumbling the Englishman was finally resting in a more reasonable position.

One down. One to go.

Nate was similarly out like a light, but at least he was sprawled on his back, handwritten notes scattered across his chest. One in particular was at the top of the pile: the words ‘Anatomical Manuscript, Royal Collection’ on one side and ‘WINDSOR’ on the other, all neatly written in Nathan’s bold hand.

Was that where they would be going? Chasing after more of Da Vinci’s works?

Of course they were.

His stomach lurched at the thought, and Desmond faltered, remembering the turbulence, his mind fracturing.

Few things meant more to Ezio than Leonardo and that notebook was just so… tangible. Its power reached through the centuries, the crushing pressure of his ancestor’s memories bearing down on him again and again just by its proximity.

And now they were going in search of more.

Carefully collecting the notes one by one, Desmond set the stack aside and eased himself back into place between the two sleeping men. An accidental poke in Nate’s side had the man wrapping his arms around both of them, still dead to the world. Must have been part octopus. Shaun was no better, taking the opportunity to spoon against Desmond’s back and now Desmond was well and truly caught.

How natural it felt, cocooned between these two. How safe.

As fragile as it was, this was home.

Desmond held his breath, trying to commit the feeling to memory.

He’d need an anchor in the days to come.


	5. Chapter 5

  
Trapped.

Who would have thought that Desmond would have felt like this in a crowded station, trying to get out of Paris?

Trapped.

And bored as fuck.

He sighed, shifting painfully in the molded plastic seat that clearly had been designed to make sure he and anyone else choosing to leave by rail regretted the choices they made in life.

Swarms of bodies-tourists, families, suits- moved blindly by in their rush to get to one train or another. It was all sorts of ordinary. People going on with their daily routine without a care.

Lucky bastards.

With the clock ticking down, anticipation coiled tightly in his gut. They had a job to do, even if it hardly looked like it with him stuck in a chair that was an abomination to asses everywhere.

Where had this dread come from, prickling just under his skin, wearing him down to the bone? He did his best to sweep it aside but it had its tendrils wrapped around him tight.

The others looked somewhat more productive, rather than trapped in butt numbing hell.

Maybe 'looked' was the operative word.

Shaun held nothing back from the deep scowl directed at his laptop, as if the machine was intentionally making things difficult. Watching Nate pour over floor plan would have been more fun under different circumstances. The details in his hands made his handsome face jump through all sorts of gymnastics but none of his expressions looked like his efforts were proving all that fruitful.

Another glance at the time. A whole, entire minute had passed. Awesome. Only another thirty five to go until their train to London was due.

Heel tapping in agitation ended with Desmond's whole body vibrating with the need to _move_. Restlessness chafed just under his skin. He hadn't always been so impatient. Confinement kind of did that to you, especially the not-so-voluntary kind. Strapped into a chair with someone else's memories stomping through his psyche for days, weeks, _months_. Felt like a lifetime at any rate.

Or more than one lifetime.

Ask his sixteen year old self what his future would be and it sure as hell wasn't lying flat on his back with random people doing all sorts of crazy shit to him and- holy hell that sounded a lot worse than it should have.

Fuck.

The ratty little convenience store tucked into the rear of the station suddenly looked mighty appealing.

“You guys want anything?” he asked, hoping the desperation wasn't too obvious.

Of course, Shaun didn’t bother looking up, fingers still flying over his keyboard. “If they happen to have some spare passwords that might get me into this _fucking network_ , I'll take two.” His dejected sigh was explosive. “Otherwise, I'll have another espresso.”

"Seriously?" Even after months the Englishman's smartassedry, Desmond still couldn't be sure. "I'm pretty sure it's a rule that your heart blows up after your sixth one of the morning."

The truth came out in Shaun's bleary eyed gaze, dark circles a stark contrast to his pale, pale face. “No big loss.”

The whole of his chair shook underneath him from a solid kick. Shaun offered a quietly abashed look at its source though Nate still appeared consumed by whatever the fuck it was he was doing.

Desmond tried to shield his amusement.

Or rather-

Didn’t try very hard at all.

“So we're still a no-go on finding out the schedule of Windsor's night watch?” he asked, a little taken aback by how good it felt to smile.  
Shaun let loose a sigh that carried the full weight of his exhaustion. “Getting into Royalty Protection's system is ending up a lot tougher than faking a Bilderberg Group meeting invite." A hint of color came to his cheeks . "Not...not that I would know anything about that..."  
 

The Englishman carded his fingers through his hair, leaving it in great big spikes. “Perhaps Nate has had some luck.”  
 

Pushing aside the urge to muss Shaun’s hair further in more interesting ways, Desmond turned his focus on the third of their party, who seemed to suddenly find the plans the absolutely the most fascinating thing on the planet.  
 

Desmond looked over expectantly. “Nate?”  
 

“Hmm?”  
 

“How's it goin' over there?”  
 

There was a prolonged pause and a rustle of paper. “It might be a little harder to get into Windsor than I thought.”  
 

Earnest looks passed between the two men listening to this assessment.  
 

“How much harder?” Shaun asked with a healthy dose of suspicion.  
 

Nate squirmed in his seat. “A bit.”  
 

Another significant look shared. Desmond tongued the inside of his cheek. "How much is 'a bit'?"  
 

Long eyelashes made Nate's sheepishness slightly more forgivable. "A bit of a lot. The castle's been around for over eight hundred years. They’ve kinda gotten used to the whole ‘laying siege’ thing and most of Leonardo’s part of the Royal Collection isn’t exactly out in the open.”  
He unwound long limbs but his words did most of the backpedaling. "But we've got time! Give me the train ride to London. I... I'll figure something out."  
 

The three shared a measured silence before Desmond rose to his feet.  
 

"Maybe we’ll get lucky," he offered, trying to inject some optimism though he had little enough of his own. “For once."  
 

"Hey," Nate called, the whole of him trying to act nonchalant and failing miserably. "You heading to that little shop?"  
 

Desmond didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at the store that was his target. “I’ll check if they have anything sweet.”  
 

The high wattage smile he got in thanks went straight to Desmond’s groin. “You’re awesome!”  
 

God _damn_ it. If they’d been anywhere but an open rail platform in front of a few hundred prying eyes, Nate would have found out just _how_ awesome he could be.  
 

In multiple ways and as loudly as possible.  
 

Desmond sighed and slipped into the crowd.  
 

Moving into the busy ebb and flow felt too much like swimming through a current, letting it take you where it will. It should have felt natural but the sensations warred with what he already knew. Crowds had always been a thing to avoid for a life on the run and it had stayed with him until now, quashed messily by memories laid down by others.  
 

It was smothering.  
 

He came up for air in front of the small store, trying to get his bearings. What was he doing here again? Right. Coffee. Cake.  
 

Desmond muddled through his purchases and waited his turn to pay, aching for this plain, old _normalcy_. Not running or jumping or thieving or hunting. Just a few seconds of sitting in line, buying stuff.  
 

That feeling lasted for a little while anyway.

The tiny, tiny old man ahead of him was having a hard time making himself understood in his thick Russian accent and his inability to hear anything the shopkeeper said in response pretty much meant the queue behind him was dead in the water. His equally tiny old wife did nothing to help the situation, more than comfortable rifling through the glossy magazines that lined the front of the keeper’s stand.  
 

Impatience barely in check, Desmond tried to ignore it all but old habits kicked in. Mindlessly, he followed along over the elderly woman’s shoulder as she quickly ‘tch’d and ‘nyet’ed her disapproval through each one.  
 

Her reading list started with Vogue which wasn’t too bad, but was still pretty much all adverts with tits. She clearly wasn’t reading a damn thing, moving on to the next glossy bearing a pouty guy that was trying too hard to flex through his strategically wet t-shirt. Each selection seemed worse than the next.  
 

Desmond took a peek at the shopkeeper. For the love of god, what could they possibly be talking about when neither party knew what the other was saying?  
 

Fuck.  
 

Another booberific fashion mag. Football. Football. A tawdry gossip mag got all of her attention and it was chock full of- surprise! More tits. The least offensive thing was some article trumpeting the British royals hosting some event-  
 

No.  
 

Desmond’s heart rate shot into the stratosphere as he struggled to process what he had seen in the old woman’s hands.  
 

No _fucking_ way!  
 

He scrambled to dig up another copy of the magazine, tearing though pages one by one until he found the article rife with royal gossip and -  
 

The Vitruvian Man.  
 

Breath catching in his throat, he tried to piece together what he could in his pidgin French.  
 

Château de Windsor.  
 

Léonard de Vinci.  
 

Le mécénat philanthropique.  
 

Dates, dates, where the hell are you…  
 

Two weeks.  
 

Two weeks from now.  
 

A charity fundraiser showcasing the works of Leonardo da Vinci.  
 

At Windsor Castle.  
 

In two weeks.  
 

Fuck.  
 _  
_

_Yes._  
 

Flinging what coins he had at the shopkeeper, Desmond took off with the magazine tucked under his arm. It would have been easier to bowl over anyone who got in his way but he danced through the crowd all the same. Unwanted attention was the last thing he needed when they were still being chased by pissed off Italians but holy fuck, this would be their first big break since-  
 

The scene that greeted him made Desmond pull up short.  
 

Still at his laptop, Shaun was no longer full of glum and glower. He had Nate alongside him now and their heads bowed together, a joke or smart remark bouncing effortless good humor between them as they worked together.

It was beautiful.  
 

Desmond’s return didn’t go unnoticed and the two looked up at him with eyes filled with concern.  
 

And his heart nearly split right there.  
 

They’d pushed so hard to get to this point, rushing, rushing, rushing to get to London. A race against time. Blast full steam ahead to do…. what exactly?  
 

Either there would be outright success or complete failure and in either case, nothing would ever be the same.  
 

Maybe _this_ was what had him on edge all along. What he wanted, so tantalizingly close but still impossibly out of reach.  
 

This _right here_  
 

This affable affection.  
 

Caring and being cared for no matter who or what or how.  
 

How much longer did he get to have this? How much longer before he had to walk into Windsor? Before the bleeding effect ended up tearing his soul into bloody chunks?  
 

A few pages. A few pages had nearly done him in, and if that article had been right he'd be surrounded by _hundreds_.  
 

Whatever time they had left, it wasn't enough.  
 

“What’s wrong?” Shaun asked, alarm growing at the prolonged silence.  
 

It took far too much time for Desmond to get his throat to work. “Nothing. I… Here. Take a look at this.”  
 

Shaun was the first to get to the magazine, eyes getting wider and wider with every line he absorbed. “My god. This could be it. This could be exactly what we need!”  
 

The magazine wasn’t in his possession for long.  
 

“’Parts of the collection rarely made public will be on display at this black tie event,’” Nate read aloud. “Even if this isn’t what we’re looking for we’ll be able to case the place, more than we could on some bullshit guided tour. Sounds like we hit the jackpot!”  
 

Desmond no longer followed their conversation, instead laying a hand on them both as if to reassure himself that they were still there.  
 

“We have to check a few things first!” Shaun warned, though even his caution couldn’t blot out his enthusiasm. “Some absurd piece of tripe that thinks one of the most iconic works ever created lives somewhere other than under lock and key in Venice isn’t precisely a good source of information.”  
 

“Absolutely,” Nate beamed back. “But it looks like we’ve got a party to crash!”  
 

_______________________  
 

Shopping.  
 

They’d hauled ass to London and had gone shopping.  
 

Desmond kept to the corner, trying to blend in with row upon row of jackets and trousers, hoping that if the world had to end that it might end just a little bit sooner.  
 

“C’mon, Desmond! Black tie means black tie!” Shaun proclaimed loudly, digging through an assortment of elegant shirts. He and Nate had already had what they needed but Desmond had proved more difficult. “What size do you wear?”  
 

“Dunno,” he said flatly, wanting to be anyplace but here, doing anything but this.

Nate’s head popped up between racks. “Whatayamean you don’t know?”  
 

“I. Don’t. Know,” Desmond enunciated carefully, shortened fuse already burning. He could feel Nate's sharp eyed scrutiny but shrugged it off, focusing on his own reflection in a mirror. Damn, he was getting scruffy, hair getting long enough it was starting to curl around the edges. “Does it come in a large? I’ve never needed to wear a suit before, much less a tuxedo.”  
 

“Don’t worry, sir!” The timorous young woman who had been the one unlucky enough to mind the shop they’d chosen tried to sound confident and failed utterly. “I can size you properly!”  
 

The smile Nate flashed her made her fumble her measuring tape. “I’m sure you could.”  
 

“Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!” Her hands quaked as she recovered what she’d dropped. “Would you mind standing over here, sir?”  
 

Desmond obliged with a sigh and nearly jumped out of his skin as ice cold tape wrapped around his neck.  
 

The girl looked ready to have a stroke. “Sorry, sir! Excuse me, sir!” she echoed yet again. “I don’t normally work the men's section.”  
 

“You’re doing fine,” he said, forcing himself into a smile. Whatever issue he had with how the three of them chose to run out the clock, none of it was this girl’s fault. He tried to crawl out of his doldrums. “I just wasn’t expecting it is all.”  
 

Somehow the words of reassurance only made her blush a shade of red not normally found in nature, her eyes directed demurely to the floor. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”  
 

“I can take the measurements if you want,” Nate offered, covered in a smile that should have been illegal in forty seven countries.  
 

The flustered young woman looked vaguely disappointed as she offered up the tape. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”  
 

“Nathan.” Shaun growled a warning that only the three men could hear.  
 

“What?” Nate continued to play the angel, keeping his voice soft and smooth. “I’m helping. Besides, Desmond’s been a little on the crabby side since we left France, don’t you think?”

Shaun gave voice to the question both men were thinking. “What’s that got to do with anything?”  
 

A single wicked eyebrow lifted for the barest of seconds. “Nothin’.”  
 

The tape was fit snugly around Desmond’s neck once more.  
 

“Hmm, sixteen inch collar,” Nate announced out loud before he dropped to a whisper. “Got to remember that. Might come in useful.”  
 

Desmond felt some of his tension melt away.  
 

So this was how Drake was going to play i- _shit!_ The hiss escaped him as hands moved over his torso far too slowly than should have been allowed. The tape tightened around his chest accompanied by what could only be a bite through the cloth covering his shoulder blades, well out of the girl’s line of sight.  
 

“Nathan.” This time Shaun’s growl was for a whole different reason.  
 

A reason that appeared to please Nathan Drake to no end. “Forty two.”  
 

The young woman was off in her own dreamy universe and completely failed to notice she’d been spoken to. A polite cough from Shaun and he repeated the number for her to hastily scribble it down.

  
Next, the tape settled across Desmond’s hips but the edge of his hoodie added far too much bulk.  
 

“No, no, no.” Nate was full of theatrical disappointment. “We have a situation that must be rectified.”  
 

Desmond let a breath escape slowly as warm fingers edged underneath his clothes to dance along the sharp line of his hipbone.  
 

"Thirty two!"  
 

A shiver went through him as a fingernail lightly brushed the small of his back.  
 

"Now for the fun one."  
 

Desmond had no idea what this meant but he was nowhere near ready for Nate dropped to his knees in front of him. His cock was plenty ready for both of them, though. He pressed into the caress along his inner thigh.  
 

"Nathan." Shaun tried one more time but the name came out soft and breezy.  
 

"Just getting his inseam," Nate answered smoothly, lips dangerously close to the bulge rising to meet him.  
 

It was no accident that Nate pressed the tape to just the r...right sp...spot and Desmond choked off a gasp.  
 

"Thirty six."  
 

It might have been the end of the measurements but the touches kept going, teasing out sinful noises.  
 

There was a horrendous gurgle from the direction of the saleswoman and she threw a mortified hand over her mouth. "Sorry, sir!" She gulped lungfuls of air. "Goodness, I must be coming down with something. I'll.. I'll just get a selection for you to try on." Her fluster was something to behold. "If you wouldn't mind heading to the fitting room..."  
 

The woman vanished into the ether but none of them noticed.  
 

"Drake, you son of a bitch!” Desmond snarled, voice rough and full of smoke.  
 

“You say that like it's a bad thing.” Nate slowly made his way to his feet, delivering more of those delicious bites as he went with Desmond offering his own in return.  
 

Suddenly, both of them had their heads pulled back, throats exposed from Shaun gripping a scalpful of hair in each fist. “Utter bastards.” He was raw and throaty, unraveled by jagged arousal. “The both of you.”  
 

He tore into them, one then the other, using hard, unforgiving kisses that consumed them all.  
 

“Now,” Shaun began, giving them each the shove they deserved. “Let's get Desmond kitted up and get the hell out of here so we can finish this properly.”  
 

The hapless woman chose this particular moment to return with an armful of clothing. “Oh.. oh, dear! I...” Her stammer got worse as she caught sight of bruised lips and breathless men. “I..I..I'll just leave these here, shall I? I need to step outside for a moment.” She added the words 'for a cigarette' under her breath but not a one of them noticed.  
 

Desmond lumbered mindlessly into a dressing room, desperate to get out of jeans that were far too tight for far too long. Struggling into a shirt, he cursed each and every button. Did the damn thing really need so many?  
 

It was only after minutes ticked by that he realized there was an uncharacteristic silence. What the fuck were the others up to?  
 

“Guys? Everything all right out there?”  
 

The door to the room rattled in its frame as something big and heavy crashed against it. Adrenaline fired up even though Desmond was only part way into his trousers. “Guys!”  
 

That lack of response kicked his instincts into overdrive and he nudged the door open, only to have two familiar bodies barrel into the room with him, mouths and hands all over one another in a frantic fight that wasn't much of a fight at all.  
 

The two broke apart when oxygen became scare, Nate was a disheveled mess, teeth marks lining his neck while Shaun was even more bedraggled with his trousers partially undone.

Nate had a savage grin on his face, raising a shaky finger in the direction of a certain Englishman as he looked to Desmond for support. “He started it!” he said, sounding too much like a petulant ten year old.

“This is not a joke!” Shaun snapped, arousal coming off him in waves even with his building ire. “Do you even stop and think what we're doing? What the bleeding effect might do with Desmond exposed to that many of Da Vinci's works? We're dressing him up like a Christmas turkey and throwing him to a pack of starving wolves! ”

It was a shock to hear the fears Desmond thought he'd kept so secret come from the other man's mouth.  
 

“You don't think I worry about that?” Nate shot back. “You can tell _he_ can't stop thinking about it.”  
 

The world dropped out beneath Desmond's feet. They knew.  
 

They _knew_.  
 

“We're in deep shit here but that doesn't mean we should accept the cards we've been dealt.” Nate opened up that wicked smile. “Maybe I'm just trying to stack the deck.”  
 

He licked his lips, all of that natural bravado disappearing for a moment. “I gotta say, at first I wasn't too sure about this... thing we have.”  Warm eyes begged for understanding. “But now.... now I'm not going to give up either of you with out a fight.”

He reached out and latched on to both men, dragging them in for a kiss in turn that was all softness, all tenderness. Foreheads pressed together, they shared air as Nate whispered his confession. “Desmond Miles, you're going to remember us. You got that?”  
 

Desmond fought off the ache in his chest as he crushed the two men to him. “I will,” he babbled, caught up in just trying to breath. “I swear I will.”  
 

This promise came over and over, all of them willing it to be true.  
 

The kisses began and didn't stop and Desmond could feel the spark flare anew. “Shouldn't we get going?” he panted, the feel of two mouths on him more than he could stand.  
 

It was Shaun who paused first, Nate watching him carefully.  
 

“No,” was the Englishman's reply and the moan from Desmond was long and low as he found his arms pinned above his head.  
 

“That girl,” Desmond gasped, more than one hand cupping him through his trousers turning him into a mindless thing. “She'll be back.” His ability to speak rapidly disintegrated as his cock was finally freed. “Any minute.”  
 

Nate's murmur tickled his ear and it could have launched him into orbit. “We better hurry up, then.”  
 

A word slipped from him, no control whatsoever. “Fuck!”  
 

The smile that Nate had all along turned nasty as he sank to his knees. “Sure, since you ask so nicely.”  
 

With that as his only warning, Desmond found himself engulfed to the root.

“ _Fuck!_ ” The shouts blasted from him as he thrashed. “God, I... fuck!”  
 

Cool air hit him as Nate paused in his ministrations. “Keep him quiet, willya?” he asked almost conversationally, casually pumping Desmond with his hand. “We've barely gotten started.”  
 

“Not a problem.” and Shaun took control of Desmond's mouth, eating him alive.  
 

The moans and groans kept coming though and Desmond gave in. Hands clawed at his ass, his back, his own arms free again but now too frantic to make much use of them besides holding himself up. Talented mouth worked his cock, licking, stroking, sucking. It was the contented hum that vibrated up his spine that was probably going to kill him.  
 

There were the kisses. Open and raw, teeth clashing, lips consuming his tongue. Nails leaving marks as they clawed up his sides, welts raising as soon as they were made.  
 

Fingers. God god. Fingers. Probing him, testing him. Coming at him from different angles that Desmond could no longer tell who or what or why. None of those questions really mattered once one made its way to seat itself fully inside him.  
 

The wicked little finger moved.  
 

The walls to the dressing room were of solid construction yet they shook and rattled as Desmond threw himself against them, trying to push, push, push against anything and everything.  
 

Time stood still and they were in this perfect, perpetual motion. Thrust, yield, thrust. Again and again. The heat, the pressure, the glide. It was all too much yet they all demanded more while giving all that they could. Building to a frenzied pace until-  
 

Desmond came.  
 

And came.  
 

And came, pouring himself down one man's throat as the other swallowed his cries of release.  
 

There were hands here too, keeping him from collapse now that he was utterly spent.  
 

A few minutes passed and Desmond couldn't remember how they'd gotten him dressed but dressed he was. It was Shaun who reached for the dressing room door and there was the sound of footsteps fleeing the scene ahead of them as soon as the door creaked open.  
 

Desmond couldn't bring himself to care, teaching his legs to walk again while slumped against Shaun for support.  
 

“Oh!” The saleswoman was in the middle of catching her breath as if she had sprinted through the store and from the footsteps they'd heard, she had. “There you are, sir. I do hope you found everything you needed”  
 

Shaun was all smug satisfaction as Desmond continued to hang heavily against him. “I'd say he's quite pleased, wouldn't you?”  
 

Nate slapped down a credit card on the counter. “We'll take three of everything to go. And if you could wrap it up real quick that would be great.” His grin turned on full force, nearly melting the woman into a puddle. “We're kind of in a hurry.”


	6. Chapter 6

Whoever invented black tie events was a colossal dick.

Desmond dug at his starched collar, idly wondering if there was some way to travel back in time and kill the sadistic asshole. The line through the metal detectors was a test in patience, limping its way along.

“I hope these invitations pass the test,” he murmured through pursed lips. He plastered an impassive smile on his face as a security guard shot a glance his way.

The pat on his shoulder wasn’t exactly reassuring. Nate shot him a winning smile to make up for it. “Don’t worry. I got this!”

“We’ll see about that soon enough,” Shaun interjected with a bit of heat, nervously fidgeting with his cummerbund. Damn, the tuxedo looked amazing on him. If only the guy could let his hair down a little. “Couldn’t you at least have shaved? This is Windsor Castle, for Christ’s sake!”

“I _did_!” Nate made a self-conscious pass against the shadow already darkening his cheek that still went well with his elegant suit. “Like two hours ago.” That cheek dimpled in lickable fashion. “Some of us need to shave more than once a week!”

“Shut your gob!”

“Hey, now,” was Desmond’s soft warning, another guard looking their way. “How ‘bout you two save your little mating dance for later?”

Shaun stood a little straighter, tugging at the edge of his jacket. “I just want this over with.”

The two other men could only concur.

Finally, it was their turn. Desmond offered up his invitation and tried to remember to breathe.

Seconds ticked by with the chubby little guard reading the engraving with due care. The man looked Desmond over with a healthy dose of skepticism. “And how are you tonight Mister…. Wantanabe, is it?”

 _Wantanabe_? Jesus fuck, Drake.

“I’m quite well, officer.” He reached down deep, trying not to panic. “ _Arigatou gozaimasu_.”

The guard paused for a lifetime before grudgingly handing the invitation back. “Have a good evening, sir.”

He sighed. Thank god for Kurosawa film festivals.

The metal detector wasn’t a big deal, though he felt naked without the bracer strapped to his arm. Strange to miss the damn thing.

Cool relief crept up his spine once Shaun and Nate were safely through, though he had one single word for Drake.

“Wantanabe?”

Nate turned a delightful pink down to his collar. “Yeah, sorry about that. But it worked didn’t it?”

Indeed it did, because they were in.

It was hard not to gawk like a tourist. The place was massive, a testament to centuries of decadence though it was easy to see that it was a fortress first and foremost. They were herded through a courtyard to the Drawings Gallery with a few dozen of their closest friends, every eye admiring the room’s beauty from floor to ceiling.

That is, every eye except Desmond’s. He kept his to the floor, shutting out the idea of being surrounded by glass encasing hundreds of pages all written in Da Vinci’s elegant hand.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Shaun’s whisper shocked him back into reality.

Nate was at his shoulder. “Yeah. We can leave at any time.”

“No way,” Desmond answered, locking gazes with them both in turn. “We’re getting what we came for.”

So it began. Under the pretense of admiring each work, the three went through each section to scout for the secrets hidden beneath. Again, it was the anatomical studies that were the focus. Desmond looked beyond this to uncover the message that had hid for centuries.

Under the child in utero was a map. Beneath the dissection of the shoulder was a riddle. Shaun had bits of paper for him, his hands working blindly on each sketch. Each second, each minute of the work was painful but they kept at it. Desmond could feel himself being worn away, time tearing away a part of him with the force of a hurricane washing out a sandy bank. After long enough, he wavered, feeling the heart of him pulled this way and that.

 _Come ti senti?_

“ _Che… che cosa_?” he stammered, suddenly feeling the sweat drenching his shirt.

Someone gripped his elbow. “We’re getting you out of here, Desmond.”

A little surge of clarity at the words. Shaun. This was Shaun.

Another voice penetrated his consciousness. “You got it….” Nate. How could he forget the smartass? “Head towards the- aww, crap!”

Shaun was more than a little distracted. “What’s wrong?”

“We’ve got company!”

This got all of Shaun’s attention. “ _What_?”

Jerking his head, Nate tried not to stare directly at a rather large Italian man dressed all in black. There was a look of violence to the man and a degree of boredom that suggesting that hanging out in art galleries was not exactly how he would choose to spend his time. Obviously he was not one of the gentlemen who paid their hotel room a visit but there was a certain degree of … familial resemblance.

On closer inspection, the man was not alone. There was a team of identically large, equally sullen gentlemen in just the same black scattered amongst several exits.

Shaun swallowed down the fear trying to climb out of his throat. “Oh, _crap_!”

“You get him out into the courtyard,” Nate suggested. “I’ll do a little scouting in the basement. There’s got to be a back way out of this place.”

“No,” Shaun answered tightly, one eye on the familiar brute. “We should keep toge– Nate? Nate!”

Nate was gone.

\---------------------

The basements were a little bit intimidating. Nate ran his hand along the walls of stone, thirteen inches thick. All the little signs of modernization were here- retrofitted electrical and plumbing tucked away down here. Out of sight, out of mind.

It was easy to slip through unnoticed, dodging from one recess to another and he was kinda used to scrambling for a quick escape, so it hadn’t taken him long to find what he wanted. A handful of workmen were unloading stuff from the back of a lorry. He could see the twilight sky peeking through the door.

Perfect.

Doubling back, he jogged as quietly as he could manage. The faster they got Desmond out of here, the better. How to get all of them past the cosa nostra? Experience was all too quick to supply possibilities. Maybe trip an alarm, or knock over a catering table? All they would need was a couple of seconds of confusion to-

Something fast and hard cracked against the back of his skull and Nate was out cold before he even hit the floor.

…

The rush back to consciousness was unfortunately all too familiar. Eyes closed, Nate tried to clear his fog with a little inventory. Sitting. Sitting down. That was good. Head hurting like hell. Not great, but he’d had worse. It was… noisy. Gurgling and hissing. Was he near a boiler or something? His arms-

His arms were pinned above his head. Definitely to pipes. There was a searing hot something too close to the back of his bound hands.

Not good.

“Wake up, little rabbit.”

The soft crooning shot up Nate’s spine and he was suddenly back in Vajo Stretto.

 _Fuck_!

The point of a blade dug into his cheek. So _this_ was the nutjob who’d been hunting them.

“Come, come, Mister Drake. Do not waste more of my time.”

Nate was ready with a glare.

And completely, not at all ready for how young the man was. The dapper little psychopath couldn’t have been much more than twenty. The blade looked quite comfortable in his slender hand. Its handle was made of buffalo horn, its blade distinctly San Potito style- the knife of the passatore.

“You cost me two men. Once I get back what’s mine, I’ll take my pound of flesh. Now where is the notebook?”

Even with his heart pounding away in his chest, Nate couldn’t help himself. “It’s someplace where the sun don’t shine.”

The young man trailed his blade just under Nathan’s chin. “You won’t have much tough talk when I carve my name into your hide.”

"Mi scusi Il Macellaio, ma..."

The Italian shot a look at his lackey that was as pointed as his blade, forcing all color from the other man's face.

Nate shot out a snort. "'The Butcher'? That’s a little too… common, isn’t it? Or is this some mafia hipster thing where your using it ironically?”

The backhand across the face was not entirely unexpected. Nate tried to work his jaw, the pain still radiating through his teeth. "You must be loads of fun at parties."

“You know nothing,” the asshole shot back. "Perhaps your friends do not play the _imbecile_. We go find them.”

The suggestion had Nate squirming and Mister Butcher was pleased at this development.

“Maybe we bring them down here and we have a reunion, no? I’ll be polite. You can choose which is the first to die."

"Touch them-" The scalding heat didn't stop Nate from pulling himself up, inching closer to growl out his warning . "And there's nowhere you'll be able to hide from me."

This got the Italian smiling. “How precious you are, Mister Drake!”

Nate forced himself to still still, battling the urge to flinch from the blade now caressing the thin skin just under his eye.

"I'll be back for you, little rabbit."

The blade slipped down his face, his chin, to travel the length of his jugular. "Then we'll have some proper fun, yeah?"

With startling precision, the Italian undid Nate’s bowtie with the tip of his knife. “In the meantime, perhaps this will keep you quiet. This may be difficult for you, I know.”

The bow tie was turned into a gag, the knot cinched ruthlessly tight. One nasty chuckle later, and the Italian and his crew were gone.

Nate fought against his bonds as soon as they disappeared. The knots were strong and his muffled shouts were barely audible over the noisy boiler.

Futility hit him hard.

"Cwap!"

\-------------

“C’mon! Let’s get you some air,” Shaun announced to the world, trying to guide Desmond towards the courtyard.

“No.” Desmond pulled his arm away sloppily, a slur to his words. “Theere’ss more. Not done yet.”

“You’re done, all right,” Shaun hissed back, grabbing on to an elbow to have the stumbling man evade him once more. “Desmond, let’s go!”

The plea had Desmond blinking at him with a modicum more coherence. Shaun latched onto him again, grateful to have the man slightly more compliant. They were almost to the courtyard when a giant of a man planted himself directly in front of their exit.

“Right turn!” Shaun murmured, steering them that back into the exhibit.

Landing them right in front of a cross-sectional study of a skull.

For the first time ever, dismay shot through him when Desmond’s vision kicked in.

“A key,” Desmond chanted, digging a scrap of paper from his pockets. “The key.”

Shaun tried to pull the stupid git away, but the commotion was attracting attention of the wrong variety. He shifted from foot to foot as Desmond filled the page with a big, drunken scrawl.

His patience ran out and so did Desmond’s stamina. Shaun caught the man just as he stumbled, throwing an arm around him in support. “You are one stubborn bastard, Desmond Miles.”

The whole of Desmond twitched against him, dark head lolling against his shoulder. “Sss. Ssay it.”

“Say it?” Shaun snapped, trying to frog march the big man away from any more blasted drawings. “Say what, you lunatic?”

“The two of you look like you may need some assistance.”

The voice was smooth and sinister and familiar in all the wrong ways.

“Oh, we’re fine!” Shaun countered with false cheer though his heart sank further at the absurdly young man flanked by two monstrous men in black.

The young Italian was not to be denied. “Your friend. He does not look well.”

That voice. It was hard to forget.

“You'll have to excuse him.” Shaun hauled the man propped against him just a little more upright. “He's had one too many appletinis."

The very last thing he expected was Desmond nuzzling the space under his ear. “Need you to sss… say it,” was the whisper that caressed the lobe.

"Haa!" Shaun squeaked, coherence dropping out from under him at the startling tongue dragging against his skin. "Ho-holds his drink worse than a Welshman, this one!" Just under his breath, he shot out “Desmond, what the _hell_ are you doing?”

There was a sharp gasp and Desmond doubled his efforts.

Good god. Shaun couldn’t stop focusing on the nibbles along his throat. Was he really going to pitch a tent in front of a homicidal maniac? Whatever happened in the next ten minutes, Miles was a dead man.

The Italian regarded them with confusion. “What game do you play? I only want what is mine. Give it to me and Drake can still survive.”

“What?” was the only response Shaun was capable of with a hand sneaking under his cummerbund.

Nathan. They had Nathan and a whole lot of very large, very bad men.

All he had was a boner and a drunk, horny Desmond. And his wits.

But maybe not even that for long, if Desmond couldn’t keep from kneading his arse.

He had one chance.

“We’re not going anywhere with the likes of you!” he declared loudly, hoping to get the attention he’d been so loathe to attract not a minute before.

Eyes narrowing, the Italian took one step closer. “What do you do?” he murmured.

“Are you threatening me?” Shaun half shouted, knowing full well the answer. He thrilled as more and more eyes pointed in their direction and added “Desmond, _will you knock that off_?”

Desmond stood a little straighter, finally managing to get back on his own feet.

The Italian snarled back. “Take care or this ends badly!”

“Is that a gun?” Shaun’s question pierced through the chatter. He didn’t give a toss if the man had one or not. “My God, he’s got a gun!”

The silence that swept through the crowd lasted mere moments before it exploded into turmoil. Cries of ‘Gun! Gun!’ repeated again and again. Panic swept the drawing gallery to turn a hundred people dressed in all their finery into a crazed stampede. An unfortunately timed shove pushed Desmond off already unsteady feet, right into the Italian’s grasp. In his rage, the young man threw Desmond off and Shaun caught him, pulling back into the crowd before any more damage could be done.

Doors were flung open. An army flooded the floor and the last Shaun saw of the Italian was his apoplectic face once police surrounded the young man and his band of giants.

He didn’t look back.

\----------

Police had the upper levels on lockdown and it would take them some time to make sense of the commotion. The underbelly of the castle was intimidating but it was the first place Shaun thought to look for a missing Drake. It didn’t help that his brain decided to go on strike from Desmond being latched on to him like a remora.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Shaun had just enough sense left to complain. Things would have been particularly dire indeed if the Hastings Universally Argumentative Constant had been violated. “You could have gotten us k…k…killed!”

He thought his stammer completely justified with hard suction on his neck and a hand stroking him through his trousers.

“My name,” Desmond panted, once again tonguing the spot he’d been working on. “Say it.”

“Which one?” he demanded back, trying to keep his voice from cracking with someone grinding into him. “Idiot? Maniac? Arsehole? Oh…oh-“

It was the biting that did it. Fucking _hell_.

“ _Desmond_.”

Well, that came out a bit loud, now didn’t it?

He could feel Desmond laugh against his skin. “ _That’s_ the one. Do it again.”

There was more biting, more than should have been allowed by law. “D…Desmond, what are you-“

He was suddenly left bereft and Desmond finally looked a little less like a sailor coming home from a night out on leave.

“Let’s go find Nate,” Desmond said softly, capturing the other man’s mouth in a kiss.

They were moving even as the kissing continued, Shaun not letting go though he was full of questions. “Would you mind-“ There was a tongue in his mouth. “Telling me what all-“ Now his tongue was in someone else’s. “The snogging is about?”

Somehow they were near sprinting, but Desmond still managed. “Hearing my name-“ He left a messy trail on Shaun’s chin. “Kept me from losing it.”

Shaun stopped in his tracks. “Is that all you needed? You fondled my bum in front of a mafioso because you wanted me to say your _name_? Why didn’t you just say so?”

He got a lick that tickled the tip of his nose. “Cause this way is much more fun.”

Kill. Kill you dead.

Shaun sighed for what was not the first nor last time of the evening and they continued their search. For all his bravado, it was clear that Desmond was still not as strong as he made himself out to be. A moment would come and he would waver, so Shaun was ready with a touch and a whisper to set the man right again.

They reached a new section and all Desmond said was ‘here’. Shaun caught sight of an elegant pant leg tucked behind a massive water tank and there was a bound and gagged Nathan Drake.

"There you are! Bloody typical. I wind up doing all the work whilst you just sit around on your lazy arse!"

Nate still managed a sardonic glare. "Fuuhh yuh!"

Desmond was on his knees, pulling the gag away.

“It’s about time you guys got here- Holy, shit! Is that a hickey?”

Shaun put an involuntary hand up to his neck and there was a tinge of awe to Nate’s outrage.“You sons of bitches!”

Before the rant could go any further, Desmond shut him up properly. Dear god, they were beautiful. That rumpled elegance made it that much sweeter, neither caring what happened to their perfect suits.

Desmond took the chance to work over Nate, who was without conscious thought. “Shit! Desmond! God- I-ohh…“

“I kinda like you like this,” Desmond murmured, a large hand at the ropes rendering Nate helpless and he got a low moan in response. “Guess you do, too.”

“No! No! No!” Shaun dug his fingers into his scalp. “We are most definitely _not_ having sex inside Windsor Castle! I’m English, for fuck’s sake! This is like doing it on my mum’s bed!”

Desmond gave him a healthy smile. “Guess we’d better get out of here then.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a knife.

A passatore’s knife with a handle made of buffalo horn.

Shaun sputtered “Where did you get _that_?” while Nate watched the man cut away the ropes.

“So you met our Italian friend?”

“Yup.”

“He’s going to be pissed.”

“Yup.”

Nate massaged his wrists as soon as he was free. “Let’s go.”

\------------------------

This newest hotel was a god send. Tiny by London’s standards, there was hardly any floor space and Desmond couldn’t give one flying little fuck about that.

It had a bed. A big bed. And a head board.

That was the best news he’d had all week. All _year_.

There were still traces of Italian clinging to him and he needed that to change.

Easy enough.

He had Nate by the waist before any reaction was possible and tossed the man onto this magnificent, wonderful, _amazing_ bed. Shoes didn’t make it, but socks got to stay.

“Ooo, I wonder where this is going?” Nate pondered aloud, scratching his head in deep in thought as if there wasn’t a handsome man straddling him and removing his belt. “Hey!”

His hands were out of his control and the belt was put to good use. Nate pulled hard and gave a grunt of appreciation with his arms neatly pinned above his head. “Nice work!”

“Thanks but we’re just getting started.” The room was small enough that Desmond kept his perch and could still reach out enough to draw Shaun to him.

God, he loved this about the Englishman. Snarky as hell, uptight and unafraid to show it, he would open up, even flourish, under the right circumstances.

Thankfully, sex was one of those circumstances and Desmond reaped the benefits. Lips and tongue tried to eat him alive, fingers carding through his hair letting him know that it’d been a while since his last haircut.

Though when those fingers turned into a fist and yanked his head back by the roots-

Maybe being a little shaggy was such a bad thing.

Hips moving of their own volition and Nate didn’t seem to mind. Desmond put his full weight into the motion and felt the hardness under him. No, from the feel of things, Nate didn’t mind at all.

Moving on, Desmond unwrapped the silk of his cummerbund, making sure to do the same for Shaun. Bow ties were the next to go. Fucking torture. He tried to take care of shirt buttons too but there were so damn many of them, but Shaun was happy to pitch in and they were finally skin to skin.

Fuck, the bruise he’d left on pale skin stood out proudly like a badge of honor and Desmond laved at it, wondering just how much bigger it needed to get to have Shaun wearing a turtleneck during a hot English summer.

And then pants – gone. Like a damn magic trick. Desmond didn’t remember unseating himself but he had to have done that to get them off and there was Nate writhing and desperate and bucking at empty air. “Guys. Guys?”

Shaun was handling the buttons again, peeling Nate open just enough to get what he wanted. “I _told_ you not to go running off,” he murmured, doing a little biting of his own, small nips as he followed the fine line of hair. “Look where it got you.”

Nate had eyes set on simmer. “I kinda like where it got me- oof!”  He jumped at hands tugging his trousers past his hips and pouted when they didn’t go any further. “Don’t I get the full naked treatment?”

“Nope.” Desmond managed to sidle his way in and studied the cock waiting for him. “You always go commando?”

“Do you even need to ask- ah, sh-shit!” The whole of Nate arched up at the tongue running down the length of him.

The scent of sweat was unmistakable, irresistible and Desmond was licking and probing anywhere he could reach to get more. Having a second mouth join in took some of the pressure off. For _him_ anyway. Not for Nate, who was thrashing like each flick was a jolt of electricity straight up his spine.

Fabric was ready to tear at the seams but it helped pin the frantic man in place. Leaving Shaun to keep Nate occupied, Desmond scrambled for a tube he’d found. The specifics of how it had ended up in the room were not something he was really eager to think about but it was a godsend.

A dollop on his fingers and a nod from Nate and he went in. Slowly, carefully, with just the one. Well… maybe another. He moved in concert with Shaun, fascinated with getting the chance to just watch his mouth in action. Not too often he got front row seats for a show like this.

The metal headboard groaned under the strain of containing the man tied to it.

“I’m gonna… gonna…”

And he did.

Twitching and shaking, Nathan came with one man drinking him down and the other milking him for more. They watched him ride out the aftershocks, sharing a kiss that shared the flavor between them.

Nate watched with a hungry eye. “Fuck!”

Desmond laughed around Shaun’s tongue. “What a great suggestion.” He took up the tube once more. “Don’t you think that’s a great suggestion?”

Pouring himself a generous portion, he knew what he wanted. The feel of his own fingers wasn’t anything new. Chilly at first, but warming quickly, he had it the way he liked it.

Having an audience was a nice little… perk. It didn’t take long before he was impaling himself with abandon, Shaun right there with him, kneading, stroking, Nate’s harsh pants loud enough to drown out any of their own.

It was time. He offered himself up and Shaun took it. It shouldn’t have been a surprise but the gentleness took his breath away. There wasn’t one single misstep, not one second where Shaun didn’t make absolutely sure that Desmond was ready for more.

But that sure as hell wasn’t what he was looking for.

He rocked back and the shout was just beautiful. Bearing down and Shaun lost it, rutting mindlessly against him, hands grabbing up both men as if trying to ride them both.

There it was. The breathless gasps, the helpless little whine. “D..Desmond, I… _Fuck_!”

That. Desmond breathed it in. _That_ was everything he needed.

No. Almost everything.

And with Nate half hard and digging his heels into the mattress to meet them, that was that. “Please… Desmond. Please…”

Yes. This was all for him. No one else.

Him.

Desmond lined himself up and he could feel Shaun struggle, holding back the need to thrust and thrust again. Nate was relaxed and more than ready for him and it took no time at all for before he was fully seated.

A sigh came in threes.

The rhythm was just an awkward fumble at first, a weird syncopation but after the enormity of it wore off, everything fell into place. Back and forth. A wave that rippled between them. They took turns in this dance. One would have his chance to lead the way, the others doing their best to follow.

Each had their own style, if you could call it that.

Shaun-gentle at first, throwing all of that to the wind once he let himself go.

Nate- a trickster, he did his best to catch them off guard, thrust his hips at just the right moment to earn one gasp after another.

And Desmond…

Desmond did his best to bring them all together, taking and giving, giving and taking, creating a new harmony.

Shaun was the first to explode in this mix. How he’d lasted this long after a full night of teasing was anybody’s guess, but he stayed with them, planting kisses anywhere he could reach.

Given free rein, Desmond opened up, Nate’s bunched up trousers giving him the excuse to hike long legs in the air and just go. Shaun was there too, hands bringing Nate back to life. Nate didn’t expect much so close to his last but the angle was beyond perfect and he became the noisy second. His hands were freed as soon as he was done.

Desmond took his time as the third, the body above and below him shivering with each pass, too many hands stroking in all the best places until it was finally his turn to let go.

For a brief moment in time, all was right with the world and they collapsed into slumber, sweaty and sated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote Nate uses is from Mother Shipton's prophecies.

San Francesco Maggiore.

Shaun had been away long enough that he wondered if the stack of notes in front of him had grown eyes, just to quietly mock him.

One last precious hint they’d gotten at Windsor was left; a nearly illegible scribble on a half frayed bit of paper.

The key.

That was what Desmond had called it before he’d become twelve and some odd stone of incubus.

But what kind of key?

It was a simple question- one of many that had forced Shaun out of a warm bed at an obscene hour to work out the answers. So here he sat, camped out at a cramped desk in his boxers with nothing but his brain and his computer for company.

So. Not too far off from a typical Friday night, then.

Well.

Except for the bit about the world being engulfed in flames if he couldn’t work out the truth. He’d managed to brute through the newest of the translations and there had been one overwhelming theme.

 _A warning to generations not yet born ._

 _An end to everything._

Blah, blah, _blah_. Thanks for _nothing_ , Leonardo. Another night of sleep lost because some Italian genius decided he couldn’t simply cut to the bloody chase.

Arching a bit to ease the kink from his back, Shaun made the chair under him creak out an absurdly piercing squeal.

He shot a mortified glance at the bed he’d abandoned and the two men it held. They lay sprawled atop each other, both still blissfully asleep.

Bastards. Long, lean limbs were so entangled that they began to blend together. Discarded clothes and blankets had been kicked to the floor but Desmond had readily offered himself as a replacement. This bothered Nate not at all, his arm curled possessively at the other’s waist to avoid any confusion on the matter.

Good god, had they really managed to get all three of them to fit-

Echoes of the night before hit him unawares.

Mix of sweat.

A gasp for air and a satisfied sigh.

Teeth rattling _thrust_ …. and his chair was squealing underneath him again.

Enough, you twat. There’s still work to be done.

San Francesco Maggiore.

The confraternity in Milan that had commissioned Da Vinci’s ‘Virgin on the Rocks’.

At least one of them, anyway. Possibly both.

It had always been a mystery why someone as utterly dreadful at finishing anything would choose to produce two works that were nearly identical. Mired in a legal fight, Da Vinci finally received payment for his labours a full twenty three years after the project began.

Both were masterpieces, but finding a link between them and the data they had already made Shaun want to gouge a hole in his sternum. Everything else they’d found had been contained in Da Vinci’s anatomical studies. There’d been not one single reference to any of his paintings until these three little words.

He pulled up the two images with a sigh, pouring over them once more.

Hmm. A tiny advert caught his eye.

An exhibit at the National Gallery featured the paintings. One of them on loan from the Louvre, in town to temporarily sit alongside its sister in residence.

Of all the fucking… luck.

Trafalgar Square was minutes away. Easy enough to pop round, let Desmond have a quick look at the two in person. Always the chance for a brief snog to counter the bleeding effect and they’d be set, right?

Pragmatism took this nascent hope by the neck and smashed in its face. Poor thing might have stood a chance if not for the fact that the combined whole of their actual luck on this little escapade to date had amounted to a bin full of rancid donkey anuses.

One elbow ended up on the desk to prop up his sudden weariness, the other blindly tracing the scattering of bruises that had come up on his thigh overnight. The fact that he couldn’t remember at what point he’d acquired them had him grinning like an idiot.

A startled snort broke the silence.

Hair jutting out in a most spectacular fashion, the maker of that snort was completely befuddled as Nate blindly swept the only empty part of the bed. “Wherssshego?”

Shaun blinked back uselessly. An overwhelming urge came to answer the incomprehensible question, to justify himself, even though it wasn’t at all expected. “I… I have to…There’s this-“

“Have you been there all night?” Desmond managed to crack open one sleepy eye with the rest of his face burrowed into the man beneath him. “Why don't you come back to bed?"

Shaun was grateful that some questions were easier to answer than others.

\------------------------------

There should be leash laws for children.

Shaun dodged yet another teenager with their face too buried in their mobile to watch where they were going.

Perhaps when all this Armageddon business blew over, he could start a sort of kennel for the little darlings at the entrance of museums. Retire early with that.

The Gallery was _packed_. Another fool child drifted past the works of masters without regard, like the walls held nothing but tacky wallpaper. Bored schoolchildren stuck together like hairs circling a drain, chatting amongst themselves rather than taking in the long line of wonders around them.

Their willful ignorance was a painful thing. There was a reason he’d chosen to teach at university. Students at that level were old enough to not fling their own feces.

Most of the time.

The two paintings they’d come to see hung side by side, surrounded by throngs of little beasts and their weary teachers trying to engage them.

Desmond kept his distance, the whole of him tightly wound. “So… what I'm looking for?” he whispered. "The last set of clues Leonardo hid in his paintings were kinda meant for somebody else."

“I know it doesn't fit,” Shaun admitted softly. “But these are the only big works that tie Da Vinci to San Francesco Maggiore. We _have_ to be sure.”

Nate stroked at the scruff on his chin, lost in thought. “It’s worth checking. The differences between the two paintings have always been a source of speculation.”

He stepped forward with a gesture, oblivious to the sea of giggling teen girls and more than a few boys that parted before him. “The biggest difference was the angel. The Louvre version has a pointing hand. The Gallery version doesn’t.”

“The missing hand of the angel Gabriel,” Shaun added, glad to hear his suspicions out of someone else’s mouth. “God’s messenger, whose horn will signal the end of time.”

Nate had his eyes half closed as he pulled something from his memory. “For storms will rage and oceans roar, when Gabriel stands on sea and shore, and as he blows his wondrous horn, old worlds die and new be born.”

“Precisely,” was Shaun’s tightlipped confirmation. Some prophecies did come true.

There was sense to it, but nerves knotted up the muscles at the base of his skull with a firm sense of wrong.

Desmond nodded, jaw working thoughtfully. “Sounds good to me.” Noticing their young audience brought a faint flush of color to his cheeks. “And uh… if I need… help, can we get somewhere a little more private?”

Shaun blushed along with him. “Of course, _now_ you’re worried about privacy!”

“No problem!” A leer came to Nate as he talked over the Englishman. “We’ll take care of it.”

A long, slow breath escaped Desmond. “Here we go.”

To the casual observer, it looked like Desmond stood admiring the two Da Vinci paintings with his eyes half shuttered. Any shine coming from him could have been blamed as a trick of the light, reflections from the Plexiglas that shielded each piece or all sorts of nonsense.

It still took Shaun’s breath away.

Not just the concept of another sense. That idea brought with it a burning curiosity. To know there were things that would always remain unseen to him, held only in his imagination.

It was the beauty of it that did it.

The glow. The light. All of it framed by Desmond’s handsome face.

Though now that face was furrowed in confusion.

Desmond stepped as close to the paintings as was permitted. There was a fit of teenage sighs as he elongated himself to his full height, scanning both pieces with growing frustration.

“There’s nothing,” he said, full of incredulity. “There’s nothing here.”

“You sure?” Shaun asked automatically, stomach sinking.

“Yeah.” Desmond turned to the two, disappointment all too obvious. “No writing, no clues, no nothing.” He rubbed at one tired eye in frustration. “What do we do now?”

Shaun had no answer.

“How about this?” Nate began congenially enough. “You take another couple of minutes to look around. See if anything else pops up.” He threw an arm across Desmond’s shoulder and that magical leer returned. “Then we find a new hotel for the night so we can...”

The color drained from his face. “ _Fuck_!”

Desmond was instantly on edge. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Go!” came the harsh whisper from Nate. “Just go!”

“What are you-“ Shaun found himself being shoved bodily around the nearest corner. “Have you lost your tiny little mind?”

Nate didn’t speak, hauling Desmond along with him until the three were safely out of sight. The man crept to the corner’s edge, sneaking a look past it as if an entire invading army had appeared just round it.

“Are you going to tell us what this is all about?” Shaun hissed. “Or have you finally taken one too many blows to the – oh my _god_!”

Desmond tried to crane his neck past the two gawkers and saw nothing beyond a wall of schoolchildren and a tiny, old woman heading right towards them. “Will somebody tell me what the _fuck_ is going on?”

"She's still alive?” Nate demanded over his shoulder. “How is that even possible?”

“You know how it is,” Shaun answered softly, heart hammering in his chest as flight or fight kicked in. “Drinking the blood of innocents tends to keep one young.”

Desmond spoke at normal volume, any pretense at hiding dismissed. “Wait. You mean to tell me you two are scared of that little old lady?”

Twin shushes came out in desperation but the woman breezed past them unawares, her prim and proper shoes reverberating off of high ceilings. Silver hair was pulled back in a severe bun that added a few inches to her miniscule height. She could have walked out of the chapters of an old Dorothy L. Sayers novel dressed in her modest, outdated tweed that showed not an inch of skin.

What she also had was two full grown men cowering out of sight until she disappeared through a door marked ‘Library-Employees Only’.

“A _librarian_?” Desmond did nothing to hide his contempt. “You have _got_ to be shitting me.”

“It's not like that!” Nate’s pleading earned him no sympathy. “This woman is not human!”

“He’s right,” Shaun tried but Desmond was having none of it. “Professor Carlisle was the bane of our existence at university. I’m surprised no one’s dropped a house on top of her yet.”

“Why the hell is she here?” Nate finally came out from hiding. “There’s got to be plenty of young dreams left for her to crush back at school.”

Shoulders sagging, Shaun let out a puff of air. “There was an email about her retiring, but this place is perfect for an art historian like her. The Gallery’s archived centuries’ worth of material related to its holding.” The adrenaline finally ebbed, giving him a moment of clarity. “They might even have some of the paperwork on-“

Oh.

Oh no.

How could he have been so stupid?

There was a ping and a disembodied voice reminded all in attendance that the museum was to close in fifteen minutes.

“Time for a strategic retreat,” he finished, tight lipped.

\--------------------

“So that’s it?” Desmond demanded, pacing their new hotel room like a caged beast. “We just give up?”

Nate was precariously perched in a chair at Shaun’s side. “No, no. I think Shaun’s got something.”

A noncommittal grunt from Shaun, who had eyes only for his computer.

Inching the chair forward, Nate got impossibly close, enough to catch a fragment of what the Englishman was reading from over his shoulder. “The San Francesco Maggiore collection,” he read aloud. “I thought there weren’t any other paintings of note associated with those priests.”

“Paintings: no,” Shaun answered, long fingers hesitating for just a moment before he kept typing. “Documents: yes. We go back to the Gallery tomorrow.”

“No! No way!” Chair wobbling in his haste, Nate brushed against Shaun’s cheek as he backed away. “You want us to walk right back into the dragon’s den?”

Shaun turned on his full glare. “Yes, that is exactly what we’re doing! There are legal documents, letters… maybe some sketches from Da Vinci’s fight with the confraternity that aren’t usually made public. Pages just like the notebooks. We’re going!”

Nate let out a laugh that was pure derision. “Carlisle tried to get us expelled! If you think she’s going to let us anywhere near that stuff, you’re crazy-“

“We have to try!” Shaun snapped. “After a good night’s rest. She might help us if we didn’t look like something the cat’s dragged in!” He rubbed idly at the burn across his face from Nate’s abrasive scruff. “And maybe, just maybe, you could trick her into thinking you’re gone respectable if your jawline didn’t look like a hedgehog’s backside!”

“Really?” Nate shot back, temper flaring out. “I guess you’d know! You are an expert at being a little prick!”

A big hand landed on each of their shoulders. “Enough,” Desmond offered softly. “We’ve got plenty of people gunning for us already that we shouldn’t be going after each other. Tomorrow we can get all prettied up for your big, bad librarian.”

They were unhurried as they prepared for bed. No call for anything physical, the urge to just sleep became more and more pressing. Easing alongside each other, Shaun leaned into Nate’s shoulder. “Sorry, mate.”

“No, you were right,” Nate sighed. "We have to go back," he added along with a chaste kiss to the forehead. “I bet Carlisle demands a kidney before she lets us in.”

A sharp burst of laughter came from Shaun before he could stop it. “Well, you do have one to spare…” and their tension drained away.

Until one very tall and very naked man appeared at the foot of their bed.

There was a small ‘woop!’ from Desmond as he threw himself atop the pile, much to the bed’s dismay though not to anyone else’s.

“This is more like it,” he murmured, pulling the others close.

\-------------------------

Hot water was a beautiful thing.

Nate ducked under the shower’s head, too tall for this new place’s runt of a bathroom. Tiny needles massaged his skin and it was exactly what he needed after the best night of sleep he'd had in a long while. He’d lingered in bed, letting the others clean up first just… for… this.

Tension began to unknot and he rolled his shoulders, getting lost in luxuriant heat. Just a few more minutes. Getting rid of his stubble could wait.

The rush of a tap let him know that he was no longer alone. Been in there long enough they’d probably thought he’d drowned. He spun the tap closed with a sigh.

Billowing clouds of steam accompanied him as he exited carefully, snagging a towel to settle it around his hips. “Sorry I took so long, I really needed…need…”

Need _that_.

Desmond had his back turned, fully engrossed in what he could see within a mirror the size of a postage stamp. And what a beautiful back it was. Muscles moving together with not an ounce of body fat to spare. Son of a bitch even had that little crease over each hipbone that always begged to be licked.

And it would be Nate doing the licking, if he played his cards right.

The _passatore_ blade was in Desmon’s hand and he dragged it across his soapy cheek with practiced ease. Its sharp edge left his face smooth and edibly clean. A quick rinse under the tap and Desmond bobbed and weaved before the mirror in a little dance, searching for stray spots that still needed tending.

This seemed like a golden opportunity.

If there was one thing Nathan Drake knew, it was to not let a golden opportunity pass him by.

So there he was, molding himself against that fine, fine opportunity, landing a kiss high up on the nape of Desmond’s neck.

“Hello to you, too.” Desmond smiled around his words, keeping the blade a safe distance from them both.

“Mmph,” was Nate’s answer, mouth much too busy to do much more than that.

Shaun blearily stumbled in, brushing his teeth on autopilot but that changed.

There was a violent fit of coughing at the sight of them and Shaun fought to avoid becoming the first ever death-by-toothpaste.

"We're supposed to be getting ready to go!" he gurgled in weak protest.

"This is me." Nate gave a contented smile, idly stroking Desmond's thigh. "Getting ready to go."

With a shake of the head, Desmond finished his shave, cleaning the tiniest bit of foam from just beneath his nose.

"When did you learn to use a straight razor?" Shaun asked, suddenly on guard.

Desmond blinked at the blade in his hand. "I don't know."

"Is this one of those bleeding effect things?" Nate asked with a cautious half smile. "'Cause I think we figured out how to fix those."

A glint of pure evil appeared in Desmond's eye. "We did, didn't we?"

He turned within Nate's grasp, blade at the ready.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Nate began to backpedal, bumping into Shaun on his way. "I was just kidding... sorta-"

The armed man padded forward noiselessly, herding the two before him.

"Desmond!" Shaun called with growing panic. "Desmond, what are you-"

"This is me." The smile that crossed Desmond's face was a wicked, wicked thing. "Getting us ready to go. Have a seat."

This last was directed at Shaun, who took to the postmodern steel hotel chair with a burning curiosity.

Nate got his towel yanked away, followed by a pointed finger to the chest. There was an easy shove that dropped him in Shaun's lap.

"Keep him quiet, willya?" Desmond parroted, sounding awfully familiar as he tossed his new towel over one shoulder.

Where the hell the naked man was hiding a bar of soap was a mystery but one investigation that would have to wait as Desmond used his hands to bring it to a rich lather.

Soft groans drifted from the seated men as Desmond joined them, facing them in a straddle. Taking his time, he began to fully massage the sudsing wetness into Nate's rough cheek.

It was achingly intimate, this feel of another person tending to him with such care.

Aching in more ways than one.

"I like this plan," Nate babbled, squirming like an oversized toddler and Shaun minded not at all. "This is a very good plan you have, just so you kn-"

Desmond's liberal application of tongue in his mouth shut him up pretty quickly. Dazed from the kiss, Nate only peripherally heard the offered instructions.

"Keep him still. That’s going to be kind of important."

The request threw Nate for a loop. Was he talking toShaun? Not to be a dick, but asking the guy who wouldn't hurt a fly at school to keep Nate st- holy fuck Shaun latched on to him. Arms slipped underneath his own, a hand pressed to the back of his neck in some weird half-nelson except there were probably not that many wrestlers that would opt to include so much licking and biting.

When the hell had Shaun learned any of this shit and why hadn’t Nate been invited?

Sensory overload at one’s wandering mouth and the other’s gentle touch, and Nate had never been harder in his life.

But Desmond proved that wrong, using thumb and forefinger to take Nate by the chin, making him the object of golden eyed scrutiny.

Mother of-

The first pass of the blade caught him by surprise, forcing a breathless shiver through Nate that shook him to his toes.

"Steady on."

The warning from Shaun sounded totally reasonable to Nate but the accompanying fingers yanking his head back by the base of his scalp were anything but. Shaun’s mouth on him had him twitching in all the right places.

Desmond looked thoroughly pleased with this development, wiping the blade clean before reaching for Nate again.

How? How could this daily chore- a daily god damned nuisance!- turn into-

Oh god.

Another pass of the blade and Nate let out all sorts of embarrassing noises.

Jesus _fuck_.

There were fingers close to his mouth and Nate was too far gone to know who they belonged to but he caught them, suckling on them in the hopes of some kind of respite.

Nowhere near enough.

Move. Good god he wanted to move. The others had to feel the same, their own arousal pressed against him from either side. He rocked between them, taking what he could.

It seemed like an eternity until Desmond was satisfied, hand passing over his work once complete. "Nice."

Shaun eased his grip ever so slightly and this was just one more golden opportunity. One hand digging into the bare ass in his lap, the other pulling against the chair, he began to writhe.

And not just a little.

Hips snapping, he ground his ass down, letting out his own nasty chuckle at the groan from Shaun in his ear. He pressed Desmond to him, initiating a little swordfight just between them. A little bit of friction and he was almost ready to... to...

He wasn’t the only one.

At the bottom of the pile, Shaun squeezed them closer, getting the full of their combined weight bearing down on him and not minding in the slightest. He still managed to thrust up and up and up, teeth cutting into the point of Nate’s shoulder.

Using the chair’s back for leverage, Desmond gave back by riding them with abandon. The roll of his hips set the pace, pinning the two men beneath him in one hell of wave.

The rhythm was erratic, beats in this little staccato and just what Nate needed. Sure, there were moans and sighs but it was the absolutely filthy noises from them all that pushed him over the edge.

And what an edge.

So hot and so, so slippery. It hit him so hard that his thighs shook, ass clenching with each pulse that he shot straight up between their bellies.

That was enough for Shaun, who voiced his approval between Nate’s shoulder blades, spasming violently enough to shake the two men above him as he followed right along.

Desmond wasn’t far behind. Head thrown back with each little whimper, he sped up to an earth shattering pace before he ended up adding to their mess.

Shhh...shit.

Nate knew his collapse was imminent if not for the sandwich he was in and he sagged between them.

Holy shit.

 

 

What a great way to start the day.

\-----------------------------

They'd been chased through the Italian wilderness and shot at for good measure together. Ambushed in Windsor castle by a bunch of mob goons. Faced down some Italian nutjob who would have been happy to wear their intestines as a little hat.

And now Desmond counted the seconds that three men could stare at each other as they stood in front of a plain door marked 'Library'.

Four hundred. Four hundred and one.

He sighed, temper starting to simmer. “This is just a little bit ridiculous.”

"You don't understand," Nate countered, haunted look to his eye. "You weren't there."

This was not exactly what Desmond wanted to hear. "All right. You just officially made it all the way ridiculous."

"Right," Shaun nodded vigorously, chin jutting out as it he also hadn't just been doing jack shit for the past six minutes. "She’s had loads of students. Maybe she won’t remember us. We're going. We are going."

His hand landed on the doorknob but no actual turning of said door knob occurred. "We. Are. Going."

Desmond grabbed hand and all, trapping Shaun there. "Damn right we’re going."

The door opened out onto a dimly lit room. History lined the walls from top to bottom, row upon row of books with not a speck of dust to be seen.

There were a few studious bodies in the darkness, the occasional cough the only sign that any of them were still alive. Pages told them a story and their heads were bowed with reverence as they listened.

At the heart of it was one pillar of light illuminating the stern face of their demon. Carlisle was hard at work, keeping to a dinosaur of a fountain pen and reams of paper when all those around her were loaded up with smartphones and laptops. Her notes came fast and furious, each page of tidy script and simple diagrams appearing in seconds.

Inching forward, the men approached her desk with hesitation. There was a certain time limit where ‘waiting for a person to acknowledge new arrivals’ became ‘a bunch of creepers hovering over somebody who didn't want to be bothered’ and that time limit came and went with no response.

Shaun got way too English all of a sudden and broke the silence with a polite cough.

"I know you're there, Mister Hastings." Carlisle’s laser stare came at them over the tops of her glasses. "I assumed that if you had a question for me you'd simply ask like a responsible adult rather than stand there like a slackjawed infant."

Well, then. Off to a promising start.

She turned her disapproval in another direction. "Ah, yes. There's Mister Drake. Such a surprise seeing you here. And here I thought you would currently be incarcerated."

"No, ma'am." Nate pasted on his sweetest smile but that too withered under her glare. "Not at the moment, anyway."

"Pardon us, Professor," Shaun intercepted weakly. "We...we're looking for anything you might have on Da Vinci's 'Virgin on the Rocks'-"

"Why?" Her eyebrows nearly met in the middle of her face as they furrowed in suspicion. "Those materials are mostly of academic interest and it's been years since you’ve been in academia. You’re up to something and I don't like it!"

"Look, ma'am," Desmond cut in, hoping the situation was still salvageable. "I understand you've had some history with these two but what we're looking for is very important." Resignation weighed down his sigh. "More important than you can possibly imagine. Give us a little time to make sure what we need isn't here, and you'll never have to see us again."

Carlisle had a magical ability to not blink. "Is that a promise?"

"I can safely say," Desmond started, feeling the burn of staring eyes into the back of his skull. "That if you give us an hour, we'll never come back here. Ever."

Ah. Here it was: the thing that had Nate and Shaun so terrified. Desmond could feel the brunt of it directed at him now. He would have rather faced a hundred Templars. The woman's penetrating gaze peeled him apart layer after layer, sizing him up against some impossible standard and finding him lacking.

"Thirty minutes," she said dismissively to all of their surprise. "Section 19-A. Damage anything and I will have you strung up and flogged."

They couldn't have timed their sighs of relief better if they'd rehearsed it.

There was a special room for looking at really old shit, Desmond discovered. Low lights and not a single window. A little too claustrophobic but they’d do what they came to do and get the hell out.

Shaun herded them into the room once they were properly gloved up.

“The first bunch is just the legal nonsense,” Shaun warned. “There’s one or two sketches. That may be our best bet.”

The pages were laid out with infinite care and it was Desmond's turn at bat.

It was kind of scary how easy it was to slip into eagle vision. How odd it had felt odd at first, like he’d grown an extra limb. It was a part of him now and there was no escaping it.

Opening his eyes, there was a pang of disappointment when most of the pages stayed dark.

But there was one. One page of centuries old parchment lit up like a lightning storm in a Nevada desert.

And with it came the voices.

 _Ezio! E' stato bello vederti!_

“It’s here-” he rasped, trying to shut the noise out. “This is it. I… Pen.. Need to write.”

There was paper and pen in front of him before he was even done asking. Desmond reached for it but before he could make it, Nate corralled his mouth.

“Stay with us, Desmond,” Nate begged between kisses. “You got that?”

Like a tether, it snapped him back into the present.

Desmond battled through the transcription. Every time his hands began to shake, there was a touch or a whisper that guided him home.

Almost… almost done.

Horses clattering on cobblestone streets.

Shaun nuzzled his ear. “Desmond, we’re with you.”

Only a little bit left. Keep going.

The call of gulls fighting over a bit of fish in Venezia.

It took him a second to realize Nate was hugging him.

A final word.

Writing it out, there was a stirring of familiarity. Was that… that was-

“My name,” he choked out, tremble starting involuntarily. “That’s my name.”

His eagle vision faded but the word was burned into his retinas. Leonardo’s tight script spelling out…

Desmond.

What page was this from? His head was hurting. Things were starting to gray out for him around the edges but he was able to just make out the drawing of a pointing hand.

A hand. The hand.

The hand of Gabriel.

“Desmond!”

He tried to answer but this was different. Then and now became a giant feedback loop.

There was Leonardo, quill scratching out his name. Here he was in the present; his name dried out and yellowed over time.

Desmond.

Pulling and pushing him between the past and present. Careening back and forth.

 _Si. Ha detto il suo nome è Desmond._

Old worlds die and new be born.

There was a sharp pain… and… and

And then there was nothing.

\-------------------------

“Fuck!” was all Nate could say, Desmond pale and unresponsive in his arms. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Shaun was close to doing much the same. “Wait here! If the coast is clear, we’ll slip out to the main stairwell and get him out of here.”

Stepping out, the coast was most definitely _not_ clear. Carlisle was there but it was the main door opening that had Shaun ducking back the way he had come. Peeking through the crack, he saw a silhouette-

What had he said about their luck amounted to a bin full of rancid donkey anuses? He’d have to amend that to an entire truckload.

The Italian.

Before Shaun could do fuck all, Carlisle was defending her territory, notebook before her like a little shield. “Yes? Yes? What is it?”

 _Il Macellaio_ was smoothly dressed in his posh little suit, looking none the worse the wear from his run in with London’s finest.

“Madam,” he began congenially. “You are head librarian, yes? I delight in meeting you.”

The young man took her hand in his and delivered a chivalrous kiss to the back of it.

In what might have been a sign of the end of days, Carlisle looked utterly flustered, staring at the young man’s grip on her as if he had just casually mentioned he was loaded with every infectious disease known to man.

That amazing, earth shattering moment came and went and Carlisle was back on her game. “What rubbish. What do you want?”

“I search for my friends,” the Italian asked in continued deference, splaying out a set of photos before her. “There are things this place holds that might draw them here.”

The snaps were little blurry, but you could still make out their subject even at a distance; the canyons of _Vajo Stretto._ There was a tiny Desmond scaling the rock face with Nate not far behind. Shaun recognized himself in profile, captured on film while searching for signs of pursuit in the Italian wilderness.

“I fear they are in great danger.” The Italian pursed his lips and spoke so sweetly. “Perhaps you see them, no?”

Breathing had suddenly become optional.

Nate adjusted his hold on Desmond. “What the fuck’s going on out there?”

“Nothing good. You’re going to have to run,” Shaun shot over his shoulder. The old woman continued to give the photos a thorough inspection. “I’ll keep our Italian friend busy somehow. Just go! I’ll catch up later.”

“Hell _no_!” Nate hissed but Shaun wasn’t listening, too wrapped up in waiting for Carlisle’s answer.

Oh, you wretched ball of hate, you’re going to get us all ki-

Carlisle looked up with a disdainful sniff. ”No. Can’t say as I recognize them.”

What? Shaun's head was in a dizzy, adrenaline fueled whirl. I mean… _what_?

A shadow passed across the Italian’s face in the blink of an eye. “Are you sure, madam? Perhaps the light… she is not so good.”

 _“Non capisci, messere_?” she demanded with such coldness that the man known as the Butcher took a step back. "I have never seen these men before in my life."

She shoved the photos back into startled hands, taking a step with him for every step he lost.

“I’m not yet so old nor my mind so feeble that I don’t know every face that passes through these doors. Particularly those! Thieves and bone idle, the lot of them. Only those that can be trusted are permitted in this library!”

Throwing her notebook firmly under one arm, she returned to her desk. “This is a place of study and research, so I’d thank you to show some respect and not use it as your personal lost and found!”

 _“Mi… mi dispiace, madam_ ,” stammered Il Macellaio, hastily tucking the photos away.

The scratch of pen on paper was all that could be heard as Carlisle resumed her work, studiously ignored the young man standing before her.

A full minute passed with the Italian wringing his hands.

Carlisle paused in her writing, piercing the young man with an icy glare over her glasses. “Are you still here?” She stabbed at the air with her pen. “The exit is that way.”

“Yes, madam,” said the Italian. “I… I….” He trailed off into nothingness, making an awkward little bow before beating a hasty retreat.

Magnificent.

“She did it.” Shaun could feel a nervous laugh starting to bubble up. “He’s gone!”

“Fan-fucking-tastic!” Nate hefted Desmond over his shoulder with a grunt. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

They bundled out into the open and Carlisle barely batted an eyelash at Nate carrying an unconscious man.

“Diabetic,” Nate mumbled as he brushed past her, studiously avoiding any eye contact. “Needs his sugar.”

She stepped in Shaun’s path before he could follow. "Did you get what you came for?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am." And then some. "We can't thank you enough. Sorry to have troubled you."

Her frail hand fell across his shoulder and Shaun's brain shut down. The only thought left possible for the day was wondering if somewhere a herd of pigs had suddenly gone airborne.

“You know," Carlisle began softly. "You have a keen mind, Mister Hastings. It's always saddened me that you squandered your talent.”

This confession hit him harder than years of her cutting words.

“Money was always Drake's motivation," she sneered. "But you? You had the passion. But you never pushed yourself. Mired in the paranoia of those ridiculous conspiracy theories of yours."

Shaun bit off a nervous titter.

It wasn't paranoia if they were actually out to get you.

"Professor..." Shaun covered her hand with his. "I can't explain but what you may very well helped save the world. There are some dangerous men who would like to stop us and we may have inadvertently put you in grave danger. Please be careful."

Carlisle snatched her hand away, fully offended. "That mobster fellow? I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

"You-" A half hearted clearing of the throat was the only way for Shaun to keep the squeak from his throat. "You _knew_?"

"Of course I knew!" she snapped, that modicum of good will gone as if it never existed. "He had the mark of a _camorristi_ on the back of his hand!"

Why, you sly old devil...

Everyone had their secrets. Even apparently former professors with their intimate familiarity of mafia clan tattoos.

Duly noted.

"You're welcome," Carlisle snapped, sounding like Shaun wasn't very welcome at all. “Now get the hell out of my library, there’s a good man.”

She turned on her heel and was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this chapter is meant as a prequel of sorts, it is intended to be read in this numerical order. Some dialogue has been lifted from the finale of AC: Brotherhood. Some elements of canon revealed in ACR show themselves here(and others are kicked to the curb!) but there are no spoilers. 
> 
> I've also gotten to the point where I've fallen into that pit of being highly self critical. Any feedback is greatly appreciated.

My name is Desmond Miles and I…. am a fucking _moron_.Guess Shaun had been right about something after all.

The Apple was a living thing in his hands, painting the walls in light and shadow, binding Desmond to it with threads of energy sent slithering up his spine. The urge to shiver was there but Juno denied him even that.

_/The final journey commences/_

Yeah, yeah, yeah.What was it about being dead for a few millennia that made people into long winded gasbags?

Her sermon was easy enough to tune out.Desmond was far too hungry to hear something- _anything_ \- from the others.A cough, a sneeze, a gasp.A little scrap of something to let him know they were still here, still with him, still _alive_.For fuck’s sake, Shaun was winding into one of his lectures when shit hit the fan and it damn well would have taken an act of God to shut him up.

Or maybe just the act of one particular god.

He’d been given the chance to say something on their little trip through the temple.Let the others know that the Ghost of Christmas Past had been yapping away in his ear-

And he’d thrown it away.

Played the big, tough guy instead. Didn’t want to be the reason they’d turned back, not with the Apple so close. No voices in my head, nope, none at all.

He was an idiot to let them walk into this blind.

_/There is one who would accompany you through the Gate. She lies not within our sight/_

More vague bullshit.

Juno was getting off on this, a big fucking puma toying with its prey. How long until the part where she got bored and bit his head off?

Sweat beaded up underneath his clothes, the Apple heating Desmond through and through. What a damn fool he'd been.This grip on him, this possession, was nothing like what he'd experienced before -through Altair, through Ezio.Maybe because this time it was being wielded by somebody who knew how to use the damn thing and not some power hungry old crank.

_/The cross darkens the horizon/_

A sharp jolt of electricity blazed through him, a million tiny needles piercing his flesh as they dug in, hooking into the meat of him so to better _pull_ and-

He was dangling in mid-air.

Searing, blazing heat as Desmond fought this, nerves humming like a guitar string plucked by a heavy hand. His arm caught fire and the muscles underneath the hidden blade moved of their own accord.

The scrape of metal on metal made him sick to his stomach. “What are you _doing_?”

Dumbass.Not like Juno was taking questions. _/The Path must be opened!/_

Only one reason for the blade to be out.Fuck. _Fuck_.

He was spun around with a careless twirl and his heart sank.

Shaun had been trapped with his hands doing the talking, Rebecca frozen in a moment of skepticism.The Apple made them a sickly, artificial yellow, their skin turned waxen.

Lifeless.

Juno brought Desmond in for a hard landing./ _You cannot escape your part in this. The scales shall be balanced. /_

Feet firmly planted on the ground, each muscle fired in sequence, his leg moved forward in a clumsy, mechanical step.The second was less awkward, Juno getting more familiar with her new puppet.

There was no pride left in him, not anymore.“Stop! _Please_!”His body refused to listen.

/ _You know very little. We must guide you/_

 _Guide_ me? ‘The First Civilization Guide on How to Slaughter Friends and Massacre People’ wasn’t a guide he wanted in the slightest.

 _God damn it_ one more step and there was Lucy, paralyzed and completely vulnerable.

Utter insanity.If Juno wanted anybody dead, the Apple could have done all the smiting just fine on its own. They wanted this, wanted there to be blood on his hands.

Can’t let it happen.

Shit!Shoulders were wriggling an inch, maybe two. One body part down, a million to go.Given another minute, maybe he could-

_/Cease your struggles! /_

That invisible noose cinched tight around his neck, the Apple shutting down his mobility to zero. That didn’t stop Desmond from trying to resist, beginning a tug of war as his arm drew back of its own accord.

The blade froze for the briefest of moments. I’m trying, I’m sorry, I’m-

Something went ‘pop’ in his shoulder and the blade continued its swing.“No!”

There were moments in time that defined everything that happened after, act as the hinge for a door that could swing either way.This was one of those moments.What came next might have been filled with the slip of a sharp blade into unresisting flesh, might have been filled with the hot spill of blood.

All of that could have easily happened but not for the explosion that sent the whole world shaking.

Dust rained down from the ceiling and for the first time, there was something more from Juno than cold condescension. _/What is this?/_

No time to think, no time to breathe with his body in mid swing, Desmond held on to hope that he could capitalize on Juno’s moment of inattention and threw his weight to one side.

Momentum carried the blade high and wide, passing harmlessly through open air.

He tempered his triumph, though he shouldn’t have bothered. Juno had other things to worry about.

Another big boom and a section of wall rippled in response. A spine tingling groan held for a few seconds before the wall gave way, collapsing into squeals and blinding smoke.

A quick look proved everyone unharmed so Desmond pushed aside the chaos. A flick of the wrist.That was all he wanted. How hard could it be? C’mon. _C’mon._

There was a loud crack-crack-crack but he didn’t care – _couldn’t_ care- until the blade was safely away.The noise still had his heart racing.A gun going off at close range sorta did that to you.

Right now his priority was the weapon lashed to his arm. The ornate vambrace that once accompanied the blade was long gone, leaving it stripped down to an elegant simplicity. In all of this, though, there was still one rudimentary fact.

No matter its history, no matter its purpose, no matter how many lives it had claimed at this very moment this blade belonged to _him_.

Him and no one else.

A warm thrill ran up his arm from the Apple, its light flickering in his palm. A breath he didn’t know he was holding burst out of him and the blade returned to its sheath.

More importantly, Desmond stumbled forward for the first real step of his own.

What light there had been –the whites, the blues, the golds- all turned blood red and Juno showed fear. _/ It was to begin here!It was your hand that was to open the way!/_

The gunfire kind of impossible to ignore, not with loud, angry bursts of muzzle flash lighting up the newly redecorated temple.Desmond could easily see a guy in the middle of all that madness running straight towards him.

Dressed in dirty jeans and a t-shirt that had seen better days, the poor bastard was in a flat out sprint, wildly contorting to shoot behind him while dodging the bullets licking at his heels.Reaching the edge of crumbled walls and concrete, the man let out a grunt to leap the gap to the platform, landing in an inelegant pile at Desmond’s feet.

The man was up and ready in no time, blasting through a full magazine in the span of a heartbeat.“Today has _not_ been my day!”

Reloading happened with an economy of movement, the gun draining again just as quickly.This slowed the guy’s mouth down not at all. “What the _fuck_ did you get me into, Harry?”

The stranger seemed to have a fondness for explosions, tossing a grenade back the way he came with little regard for accuracy. Ears were ringing but for now, there was no more gunfire from the darkness.

_/No more of this defiance! /_

The Apple turned to lead and Desmond nearly toppled over under its weight.A simple toss should have gotten rid of it but the sphere pulled at his skin, almost fused to his flesh.The Apple was a part of him, whether he liked it or not.

An angry light lashed out from it, a lightning bolt with a very specific target.

“Oh, _shit_!”The stranger was quick, rolling clean away from the blast hunting for him.He kept to a crouch, keeping watch from a breathless distance. “What the _fuck_?”

Buddy, you took the words right out of my mouth.

Desmond had no chance to laugh as Juno renewed her attack.If the first had been hot, the second flare of her anger was a damn blast furnace, blasting through to the marrow of his bones.He fell to his knees with his blood set to boiling, the world turning grey as the insides of him turning to sludge.

A wave of cool broke through the agony.Desmond looked through his fog to find a hand settled on his shoulder and a filthy, handsome face.

“Just hang in there,” offered the stranger with soft determination. The hand lifted, though the strange relief lingered.

Studying Desmond carefully, the man puffed out a thoughtful breath through pursed lips.“You’ve got this, Drake.”

Drake. So that was his name?

The man brought up the butt of his weapon to take a tentative jab at the Apple. “How ‘bout we ditch the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch-”

This poke did nothing, the sphere refusing to let go. Drake delivered another, harder strike that that shifted Desmond more than the Apple and-

The Apple retaliated, lashing out wildly in answer and Drake nearly up on his ass in his effort to get out of its way.

/ _Such hubris!/_ The image of Juno transformed into something far from human, what had been hair twisting into a furious tangle of serpents. _/So many years have passed and still your kind cannot set aside your baser instincts. You must submit to your future, yet even that simple truth lies outside your comprehension. /_

Drake shot a healthy dose of disgust over his shoulder, glancing in her direction for the first time.“Jeez, lady- who died and made you-yow- _wow_!”He flailed in a wild back pedal at the sight of her, looking to Desmond for reassurance. “ _What_ the _hell_ is _that_?“

“You… “Desmond asked in return. Didn’t the others… the others hadn’t - “You can see her? Hear her?”

“ _Heard_ her, yeah!” the stranger fired back at him with pinched annoyance.“Missed the floaty, creepy part but I’ve been kinda _busy_!”

_/ You leave us no choice. /_

Juno had barely finished speaking before it began.

There was that heat again, the Apple consuming everything and anything.That first strike hit Desmond hard, but after that one wave of cool, it was nothing like what had come before.He could move at least, though it was exhausting work, his body ponderous and slow as if swimming in a sea of molasses.

Drake was not so lucky.

The light seized him completely, his rifle slipping from shaking hands.“Oh _god_ ohgod what is this?”

Tendrils wound around his limbs, dragging the man solidly to his knees.One hand haltingly drew the side arm from its holster.

Desmond tried to get there, a race to the gun the only thing he could think of.Grab the butt and twist, right?It was what his dad had always taught him.Other kids had music lessons or algebra homework and he’d grown up with Disarming Armed Opponents 101.

But the air was thick and cloying, every barrier Juno put up throttling the life out of him.Desmond pushed through, closing in on Drake with shaking legs.

Not quick enough.The pistol came up through Drake’s resistance, the fight in him obvious in his ragged breathing. Sweat marked a trail down his sooty forehead.The point of his gun dug into the softest part of his own throat. At that range, there was no need for precision. 

Juno was nothing but ice and deliberation. _/You. Will. Yield. /_

“You take last requests?”Drake asked, sounding far too casual.His finger settled over the trigger and his voice constricted around hard metal.His eyes shuttered closed, and Desmond watched the bravado shattered. “Make this worth something.”

A second of horror passed and Desmond forged ahead with no plan outside of his righteous anger.

Was this it? Was this all there was ever going to be?So much talk of free will and self-determination.So many lives lost, so much blood shed in its defense and in the end, all that was about to be shoved aside at the whim of some race who had been dead for so long that they’d forgotten what it meant to be alive in the first place.

There had only ever been one path for Desmond.There was never any choice. No argument. No explanation.All of it decided by those who laughed at being called gods but acted as if they were firmly convinced of their own omnipotence.

Dance to our tune, little monkeys.Trust us.This will only hurt for a little while.

Well _, fuck that_.

There _had_ to be another way.

And if there wasn’t one, Desmond was going to keep looking until he found it.

Starting with now.With aching slowness, he fell to his knees at Drake’s side, cradling the hand holding the gun.There was the effect of that touch again, the barest brush shooting liquid adrenaline up his spine. The contact brought with it the shocking clarity that came as if he’d fallen headlong into an ice cold lake, turning every thought into his head into one single thing.

**_Enough._ **

One word.A command, really.Hard to believe something like that would be worth a damn in this fight, though this time, something was different.

This time, the Apple was listening.

A soft, impossible breeze ruffled his hairand suddenly–

Desmond was fourteen again.

Just a boy under a moonless sky, he’d run through the tall grass as fast as his legs could carry him.There had been no light to guide him but his path through the old Dakota pines had been well worn and achingly familiar.

His lungs had been ready to burst, the whole side of his face already swollen and aching, mouth throbbing even in the crisp, clean cold.Gritting his teeth had hurt like a bastard and he’d willed away the threat of tears. He failed that too, making a mess of his sleeve, smearing around the blood that had only just begun to dry.

Once the damage had been done, there hadn’t been one word of apology from his dad. Why would there be?“Let me get your mother. She’s always been better at suturing than I am.”

Desmond couldn’t wait.He ran.He always ran.

One day, he wouldn’t come back.

Pine needles had been his favorite thing about that time of year. Not a lot of other things going on in a South Dakota fall, but just the echo of their scent made the adult in Desmond smile, reaching across time.A few handfuls was all he had ever needed to keep warm on those nights when he’d been way too alone and way too lonely.

It was all for him, his forest, his little patch of sky.Sometimes it liked to hide from him on a cloudy day or when the moon had been too bright, but every once in a while, the conditions were just right.Everything lined up and the world would sleep in its thick, black cloak to make every star belong to him.

He could reach out to the ends of the universe.

There had been no more pain, no more fear after that.Nothing left but to wrap himself in awe on that one night in a young boy’s life.

Desmond felt it again now, the Apple showing him layer upon layer of past, present and future.He could take hold of forever.

Juno was there with him, her presence pushing into his thoughts, jockeying for control of the Apple. _/You dare!/_

“Damn right I do,” Desmond murmured and he pushed right back.

The Apple had its price, of course.It sopped up his newfound strength, fueling itself from his force of will.In his mind’s eye, the Piece of Eden opened for him, unfurling as if it were some vast flower blossoming in the heart of his palm.Its power, its knowledge, its beauty seemed infinite.

Every bit of Juno’s wrath was over his shoulder, but Desmond began to peel back petals one by one.

A loud “Oh my god!” was from a voice that was far too English to be anyone but Shaun.

No surprise that Lucy was on task. “Is everyone okay?”

“What the _hell_ is going on?”Rebecca demanded.

That was a damn good question.

Freeing the others had been simple enough, but there was something different about Drake, Juno’s hooks still deeply embedded.

Desmond was missing something. A piece of the puzzle.He kept digging into the Apple in search of it, though his stamina was fading fast.

“Shit! We’ve got company!”Rebecca sounded impossibly far away but the fresh salvo of gunfire that came after did not.

Bullets pinging around him and Desmond ignored it, desperately visualizing the uncurling of a trigger finger.Jesus, fuck, didn’t the Apple come with a manual?One last push and Drake’s hand relaxed just a hair.

Desmond would take whatever progress he could get.He turned inward, digging deeper.

There was a vague awareness of Lucy’s hand on his cheek but he could barely feel it. Weird.When had his face gone numb?

“Desmond?Desmond! I don’t know if you can hear me, but try to take cover!”

She brushed by him, bringing Drake’s rifle to her shoulder to return fire of her own.

A stray round sang past, but moving wasn’t exactly an option with Desmond running on empty.

Let go of the gun. _Let go_ you fucking goddamned motherfucker _._ It became a mantra and Drake’s hand slackened in his a little bit more.

Juno wasn’t having any of that andDesmond faltered as her efforts doubled.The Apple strobed, going hot then cold.

“Run.” Drake’s plea filtered through his concentration.It was thin and reedy, the man as drained and pale as Desmond felt. “Don’t-.”

“No way,” Desmond bit off, not giving a shit what other valiant thing Drake had to say.

A shadow fell over them both.

“Do I have to do sodding everything around here?”

For all his bluster, Shaun was full of worry. A shot came far too close and he let out a hiss, ignoring the singed hole on the sleeve of his jumper that hadn’t been there a moment before.

“Let’s get rid of this, shall we?”Shaun reached for the gun, handling it with the delicacy normally reserved for rods of plutonium.He forced himself not to touch anything else, knowing death might come from the smallest slip, the tiniest shake.

The gun came free and three men shared a sigh.

Shaun came up with a feral smile. “Rebecca!” he called out sweetly.He flipped on the safety and tossed the gun her way in a neat little arc. “Got a little present for you!”

Her hand was more than ready for it.“Aww, you shouldn’t have!” Rebecca shouted over the mayhem, taking out one gunman with an efficient burst of fire as Lucy took out another.“It’s even my favorite col- oh shit!”

“S..sorry, _what_?” Shaun barked back.“That’s not the sort of attitude I want to hear right now!”

The answer to his question was small and metallic, hitting the floor at his feet with a clang.Shaun turned whiter than parchment. “Oh, _shit_.”

There weren’t many times in life when you solidly knew something, were so startlingly sure that you were well and truly _fucked_ , and having a grenade dropped into your lap was one of those times.

Desmond fought to move and Drake leaned into him, doing much the same, but both stayed locked in their torpor.

Wow.Guess for all that, it would all be over soon-

They hadn’t counted one crazy English bastard.One deep breath later and Shaun had the grenade in his hand, pitching the thing as far away as he could. Was he _insane_?Who the _fuck_ throws back a live grenade?

In the same motion, Shaun turned with arms wide and nailed both men in a full-on tackle, dragging them-

Time came to a halt.

Though not for Desmond.

Every nerve, every fiber of his own being was alight.His own hands shone so brightly he could see them through closed eyelids, burning a pristine white.The heartbeat of every living thing seen and unseen within a mile of him tapped out its rhythm on his skin.

There were a few differences.Two, actually.The men on either side of him glowed in their own hue-Shaun a bright blue and this Drake a burnished gold.Their brilliance forced their edges to blur, their colors beginning to run together.

Then the flashes came.

The bottega, its floor littered with canvas and all manner of tool, Leonardo scribbling away at the center of a mad mess, filling page after page with his tight, distinctive script.

The scene changed and there was nothing but blackness.Not frightening, not at all. More like a womb, containing Desmond in an all-encompassing warmth. It had been a long time since he’d felt so swaddled, so protected from any danger.It made his heart sing, bringing such a smile to his face but there was no time to wonder why before the scene shifted once more.

A massive, featureless surface barred his way, but Desmond knew it was a door, could feel it in his bones even though there was nothing even remotely door-like about it.The Un-door.

This was it.This was the end.He knew that with grim finality even if he hadn’t the slightest clue what the hell was going on.

It was a feeling that he’d gotten used to.

Voices were speaking that were both familiar and not.

“You ready?”

“As much as I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s do it.”

Desmond put out his hand and-

 _/Most intriguing. /_ Juno quietly intruded even here.

A final blinding flash put time in motion again, dropping Desmond back into the real world

Actually, dropping Desmond on his ass back in the real world, with the combined weight of two grown men landing on top of him, the Apple trapped between them.

The grenade that had been thrown forever ago finally blew and debris went flying, the real damage done to those on the receiving end of Shaun’s throw.

The concern now was the Apple, the sphere growing hotter, brighter than the sun even in the palm of his hand.

/ _Perhaps we were in error. /_

What the hell was Juno on about?God, the thing was scalding, whatever skin was exposed to the Apple feeling as if it were starting to char.Desmond writhed to be free of it, to be free of the tangle of limbs, to get this miserable thing gone before it could harm anyone else-

/ _You have made your choice./_ Juno was almost serene _._

In between one blink and the next, the Apple went quiet. No more heat. No more light.No more battle. No more _anything_. The lifeless sphere rolled off his fingers and Juno left with parting words.

/ _You must not fail. Now go!/_

The temple fell into darkness.

There was motion and a flashlight clicked into action.Rebecca had her new toy at the ready but there was no more violence.She made a blinding pass with her torch. “You guys all right?”

Barely sparing a second for her answer, she squatted down, picking at the burned out husk that had once been the Apple.“Well, this thing is pretty much done.”Her dismay was palpable.“Looks like we’re right back at square one.”

Desmond scrambled to his feet, testing the flex of his fingers. A moment ago they’d felt like blisters upon blisters but all he found was healthy, unharmed skin.

So what the hell had happened?Was all of it some Apple-induced hallucination?One thing he was sure of was that Juno and her non-answers were long gone.

“Let go!” Shaun bellowed from the floor, struggling in the darkness.“Let go of me, you imbecile!”

Rebecca quickly shed a little light on the situation.

Shaun was trapped, Drake wrapped around him like a crazed octopus.

“It’s you!” Drake hugged the unhappy Englishman until they were both out of breath. “Where the hell did you come from?”

His delirious laugh was infectious, but Shaun wasn’t having whatever Drake was smoking. 

“Where did _I_ come from?” Shaun sputtered, his glasses knocked fully askew. “How have you managed to not get your fool self killed yet?”

Drake laughed loud and long as if this were some old joke.“Oh, god. You haven’t changed a bit.”

Then the impossible happened.An impossible impossibility even considering all of the other god damned impossible things that had happened that day.

Drake dropped a loud kiss on Shaun’s forehead and …

Shaun _smiled_.Not a big smile, obviously, because that would have caused the universe to collapse in on itself, but a thoroughly pleased, dopey little grin that Shaun was desperate to hide.

And just for a moment, something in Desmond raised its ugly head. 

“Guess you guys know each other, huh?” he asked more tersely than he intended.

Lucy joined them with a rifle resting on her hip, distracted by quick looks over her shoulder for signs of danger. “Looks like that’s the last of them and-“

Her torch created a spotlight that featured the two men rolling around on the ground in the middle of their little reunion. “What the ever loving hell is going on over here?”

Shaun was quickly on his feet, though more than a little flustered.“Umm, yes.Well.Quite. I.. ah-” “Nathan Drake,” the man said by way of introduction, standing up with an open hand and a rogue’s smile.“Friends call me Nate.”

Desmond gave the proffered hand a cautious shake.“Nice to meet you, Mister Drake.”


End file.
